










0 > 

$ > 9 

0 * 

) 0 * 

> 1 ? 














1 


















l7Wt(A- 4-4- 1 “ 


* 5 ? 3 




« 


•> * 

* , r 


'• * 


















f 

>vu 












“MISTER 44” 


CHAPTER I 


B 


SADIE CHRISTENS THE SHRIMP 

I RACE up, kid,” said Sadie. “ It’ll be six 
o’clock before you know it.” 

She mopped the cold, moist forehead 
of No. 12 with a four-cent cotton handkerchief and 
spoke softly, as a mother might. 

No. 12 leaned indifferently against the window- 
frame. The air came in reluctantly and sluggishly 
and was hot, but it was fresher than the air in the 
packing-room. A thin, pale face lifted itself to 
Sadie’s and a pair of tired eyes returned thanks for 
the ministrations. 

“ I’d ’a’ been all right if he hadn’t picked on me,” 
said No. 12. “He’s always pickin’. Ain’t it 
hot?” 

“ Some hot,” assented Sadie. “ But don’t you 
care, kid. As for him ” — she nodded toward the 
center of the room — “ what do you care if he does 
pick? ’Tisn’t like havin’ a man pick on you. He’s 
a shrimp.” 

“Wish I was like you,” murmured No. 12 wist- 


:I0 


“ MISTER 44 


fully. “ But when he starts at me I get all fluttered. 
Gee, I wish it was six ! ” 

The packing and delivery department of the Chal- 
lenge Shirt Company was filled with a smothering 
sultriness. The odor of newly made garments 
seemed to stifle the air’s feeble life. 

Thirty girls worked listlessly, eyes on the clock. 
They were slowing down, like tired runners near 
the end of a long journey. Flannel shirts did not 
disappear into pasteboard boxes so rapidly as an 
hour before. Neither did boys who carried away 
the boxes move with forenoon alacrity. The symp- 
toms of a day nearly spent were unmistakable. 

“ You, No. 18 ! ” 

The voice was petulant and shrill. It came from 
a collarless man who wiped his face as he talked. 
He was little and young, with a beaklike nose, a 
pallid skin, and faded eyes that watered unpleasantly. 
Exasperation and futility struggled within his nar- 
row breast. Sadie turned slowly and surveyed him 
with calm eyes. Eighteen was her number. 

“Get to work, No. 18,” croaked the little man. 
He tried to be menacing, but the pose signified no 
menace to Sadie. 

“ I was tryin’ to do something for No. 12,” she 
said in an even voice. “ The poor kid’s about in.” 
' “You get them olive-drabs into them boxes,” re- 
torted the little man. “ No need for you to loaf be- 
cause No. 12 is loafin’.” 

“ You win,” observed Sadie placidly. 

She went to her place at the long table and began 
putting shirts into boxes with skilled but deliberate 


SADIE CHRISTENS THE SHRIMP n 


hands. The little man glared. It was a full min- 
ute before Sadie spoke again, and then it was like an 
addition to her last words. 

“ No. 12’d be doing this, too, if you’d leave her 
alone. The heat didn’t get her; it was the pickin’.” 

The little man, who had turned to rasp at a lag- 
gard boy, whirled about. 

“ Who’s boss here? ” he demanded. 

“ Too hard for me,” commented Sadie as she slid 
the cover on a box and lifted her eyes for a few sec- 
onds to contemplate the questioner. 

“ I’m boss.” 

“ You certainly are a grand question-and-answer 
department, Mr. Ferguson.” 

There was faint emphasis on the mister. It was 
not lost upon the packing department. Momenta- 
rily hands that were packing away shirts paused. 
Two girls whispered. When Sadie and the super- 
intendent battled the output of the Challenge Shirt 
Company marked time in its march to the consumer. 

“ You know the rules — work and no back talk,” 
snapped Ferguson. “ You lookin’ for a fine? ” 

Sadie made no answer, but inspected an olive-drab 
critically. 

“ I say you want to be fined? ” 

“ Leap to it,” advised Sadie. 

“ Twenty-five cents,” said Ferguson as he turned 
for a tour of table-inspection. 

Idle hands were galvanized into motion. 

Sadie smiled tolerantly. It was not in her nature 
to cry when she was hurt. Gayly she put olive-drabs 
into boxes. But she was hurt. 


i2 “MISTER 44” 

There never was a time when a twenty-five-cent 
fine failed to hurt a seven-dollar-a-week envelope. 
A ten-cent fine was a severe loss; a quarter fine 
achieved the dignity of financial embarrassment. It 
amounted almost' to involuntary bankruptcy when 
you were putting fifty cents a week into a savings-bank 
and twenty cents into a sick-benefit fund. 

Just why Sadie subscribed to the sick benefit she 
did not clearly know. She was never sick; but other 
girls were sick, often, and it seemed like a good idea, 
for the twenty cents helped somebody, if not Sadie. 

Six o’clock was near. Sluggard hands, whose 
owners suddenly feared Sadie’s fate, worked with 
imitation energy. Sadie, however, kept her even 
pace ; she never hurried, yet she could put more shirts 
into more boxes in a nine-hour day than any of her 
sister workers. 

Her manner gave no trace of the little tragedy 
that was bringing her day to a close. She hummed 
softly. Twenty-five cents meant staying away from 
the movies five nights. It was a blow, but she would 
manage to survive it. 

She did not notice that Ferguson had paused again 
at her table until he leaned across it and said tenta- 
tively : 

“ Say, Sadie.” 

“No. 1 8 ,” she corrected. 

“ Now, listen, Sadie.” 

“ Line’s busy.” 

“ Quit kiddin’,” he said with an uneasy laugh. 
“ You and me don’t want to be bad friends.” 

“Who said so? Why not?” 


SADIE CHRISTENS THE SHRIMP 13 

Sadie’s eyes widened in affected surprise as she 
bestowed a measuring glance across the table. 

Ferguson leaned his elbows on a pile of shirts and 
looked up at her. 

“ Listen, now,” he protested. “ I ain’t mad, 
Sadie. But you had no call to talk back. It’s 
against rules. I gotta have discipline, y’ know.” 

“Then why don’t you get it?” asked Sadie 
smoothly. 

Ferguson winced, frowned, and began again. 

“ I just had to fine you after what was said. 
Didn’t I?” 

“ Sure ; for the public good,” nodded Sadie. 

“ Lemme tell you something, Sadie. I can forget 
to send a fine-slip to the desk.” 

“ I bet you can,” assented Sadie cordially. 

“ And I — ” 

“ Only don’t.” 

“ And now, Sadie, tie a can on that stuff. I was 
goin’ to say — ” 

“ If you forget to turn in the fine, I won’t, Mr. 
Ferguson.” 

Now she paused in her task of stacking up shirts, 
lifted one from a pile, shook it out, and tossed it 
aside. 

“ Thirty-eight label on a thirty-six,” she observed. 

Ferguson examined the garment critically. 

“ Guess you’re right,” he commented admiringly. 
“ You’re a wonder on catchin’ wrong sizes, Sadie.” 

“ Uh-huh,” said Sadie as her eyes rested apprais- 
ingly on the person of the superintendent. The 
glance conveyed no meaning to Ferguson. 


14 


MISTER 44 ” 


“ About that fine,” he resumed. “ Wanta know 
how not to pay it? ” 

“ No. Can’t upset my bookkeepin’ now; I got it 
all set down.” 

“ Y’ know that picnic, Sadie? ” Ferguson’s voice 
was wheedling. 

“ Sure. I read the poster.” 

“ You hadn’t ought to have turned me down like 
you done. But it ain’t too late yet.” 

“ Still a chance to get in under the wire? ” queried 
Sadie. 

“You bet there is! And no fine-slip, neither — 
if you go.” 

“ Sounds easy,” she commented. “ Say the word 
and save a quarter — just like that!” And she 
snapped her fingers. 

Ferguson nodded. 

“ No, Mr. Ferguson,” she said slowly, shaking 
her head. “ It wouldn’t be fair to the quarter to 
play that kind of a dirty trick on it.” 

Ferguson gulped and hesitated, then returned to 
the attack. 

“ Listen, now, Sadie; just listen! Will you? ” 

“I did listen — plenty. I got an earful. Now 
you listen: The company saves a quarter on Sadie 
this week. It can’t lose that quarter if it tries. If 
it’s in my envelope Saturday night I’ll call a special 
meetin’ of the board of directors, hand it over, and 
notify the stockholders there’s a new dividend 
cornin’. That quarter’s got a life sentence, Mr. 
Ferguson.” 

The superintendent met Sadie’s steady gaze and 


SADIE CHRISTENS THE SHRIMP 15 

held his ground, for the way for retreat with honor 
was not yet open. He was gurgling a sentence in 
his throat when Sadie asked suddenly: 

“You’re a thirty-four. Yes?” 

“ I don’t get you. You mean — ” 

“ Chest.” 

Ferguson shifted his weight to the other foot. 

“ I wear thirty-sixes. I can wear a thirty-four, 
but—” 

“ You’re wearin’ a thirty-four now, and it’s flap- 
pin’,” she interrupted. “ You mean you can wear a 
thirty-two. Don’t kid Sadie. I got an eye for 
sizes; you told me so yourself.” 

The superintendent straightened his body stiffly. 

“Fourteen collar?” queried Sadie sweetly. 

Ferguson began to stutter. 

“ And a six-and-a-quarter hat,” she added, nod- 
ding. “ Correct me, Mr. Ferguson, if I get you 
wrong.” 

She spoke placidly, even solicitously, but there was 
a telltale glint of hardness in her gray eyes. A hush 
had fallen upon the packing department, broken only 
by the sound of Sadie’s voice. 

“ I’ve got nothin’ against that picnic, but I’ve got 
a lot against you, Ferguson.” Sadie had dropped 
the accented mister. 

“ I wouldn’t insult a movie by walkin’ in with 
you. You’ve picked on me because I won’t go. 
Not bein’ a man, I expect that’s your privilege. 
You’ve been lookin’ for a chance to fine me; watchin’ 
for me to break a rule. The whole room knows it. 

“ Well, you got your chance. Shake hands with 


1 6 


MISTER 44” 


yourself. You’re gettin’ another chance right now, 
too. It’s worth half a dollar to speak a piece to you. 
I’m speakin’ it. 

“ You want my reason for not goin’? This is it, 
Ferguson: You ain’t fit to be seen with me. 
Maybe that sounds proud. All right; I am proud.” 

Sadie paused for an instant. The superintend- 
ent stood in awed fascination. 

“ Even if you were decent, Ferguson,” she went on 
without a trace of excitement, “ you’re not big enough 
to take me anywhere. That’s reason enough to 
stand by itself. You’re a thirty-four — scant. I’ll 
allow that, but it’s charity. 

“ Anything over a thirty-two shirt on you is throw- 
in’ away goods and boostin’ the high cost of livin’. 
You’re undersized, mind and body; you ain’t healthy 
to look at. You’re drivin’ me to smoked spectacles. 

“ You’re just naturally mean and little. Now, 
you keep away from me except when you got orders 
to give. Next time you speak to me I’m No. 18. I 
don’t want to spank you, but if I get any more 
‘ Sadie ’ from you I might have to. 

“ You can put another quarter on that fine now, 
and maybe they’ll make you president of the com- 
pany for reducin’ operatin’ expenses.” 

Sadie hesitated; then leaned forward across the 
table and said with terrible distinctness: 

“ Do you know what kind of an insect you are, 
Ferguson? You’re a shrimp! ” 

Ferguson, like a man dazed, backed slowly away 
from the table, fell over a stool, sprawled for an in- 
stant on the floor, and then made a dash for the cut- 


SADIE CHRISTENS THE SHRIMP 17 

ting-room. The packing department, uncertain 
whether to laugh, cheer, or utter cries of astonish- 
ment and dismay, did none of those things, but re- 
sumed the business of putting shirts into boxes. 

Sadie liked that word “ shrimp.” She never saw 
one, being an inland girl, but she knew instinctively 
that a shrimp was little and very much like Ferguson. 
Anyhow, Sadie was sure it was some sort of an 
insect. 

She had borrowed it from the vocabulary of a 
ranchman, a person in whom she had taken immedi- 
ate and tremendous interest. He had come one day 
to order a gross of olive-drabs for the ranch-hands 
out in Montana. Sadie had been called in to sort 
sizes. 

Olive-drabs from that day had had a peculiar fasci- 
nation for her. Cowboys wore them, she learned; 
so did miners and prospectors, and even “ swells ” 
who hunted and fished just for fun. Olive-drabs 
spelled adventure for Sadie — and outdoors. That, 
after all, was the main thing — outdoors. 

“What sizes?” Sadie had asked the rancher. 

“ Forties up to forty-sixes.” 

Sadie’s eyes had begun to glow. 

“ Cowboys must be easy to look at,” she com- 
mented. “Want a few thirty-sixes?” 

“ No shrimps in my country, sister,” said the 
rancher. “ Do I look like one? ” 

“ No-o,” admitted Sadie. “You’re kinda 
strainin’ the buttons on that forty-two you’re 
wearin’.” 

She treasured shrimp. Every time she looked 


i8 


MISTER 44 ” 


at Ferguson the word popped into her mind. To 
Sadie it was more than merely descriptive of her 
boss. It became a unit of size. She standardized 
men according to it. 

A shrimp was the smallest possible — a sort of 
No. i, Triple A. Then came the peewees, and after 
the peewees the sparrows. None of them got to be 
men until they attained Sadie’s minimum, forty-inch 
chests and sixteen collars. 

They might go as far beyond that as nature willed 
and still please Sadie. She had no maximum. 

Ferguson was still in the cutting-room when the * 
hands of the packing department clock touched six. 

A gong rang, and thirty girls, in various stages of 
languor, turned toward the locker-room. Sadie 
walked over to No. 12 and patted her shoulder. 

“ Feelin’ better, kid? ” she asked. 

No. 12 nodded; then said in an awed whisper: 

“ They all heard you say it. They’re passin’ it 
round now among the drivers. What’s a shrimp, 
Sade?” 

“ A thirty-four, deary.” 

Smiling, Sadie went to the locker-room. She was 
in a hurry to get outdoors. She wanted to breathe. 
Something seemed to fetter her lungs, even in the 
big room. She wanted space and sky and open 
places — as much of the big outdoors as she could 
find in Buffalo. 

Bigness and outdoors occupied the same pigeon- 
hole in Sadie’s mind. She worshiped both. Big 
people were her people; outdoors was her place, 
even if only a dream place. 


SADIE CHRISTENS THE SHRIMP 19 

Big men were outdoor men; if they chanced to be 
elsewhere, they were misplaced. True, mere big- 
ness was not all that Sadie worshiped; but it was a 
fundamental, a foundation on which she reared her 
ideals. 

Because she came from an Ohio farm to a city 
factory she had not renounced her gospel. The 
farm was out under the sky; but it was a little farm, 
set close to a little village. Better than the city, 
perhaps, as Sadie might have admitted; but there 
are livings to be earned in this world, and hers was 
one of them. 

The farm was outdoors at its smallest — a sort 
of shrimp outdoors. The city was big, she acknowl- 
edged. But it was the wrong kind of bigness — a 
shut-in bigness. It was man-made. Sadie wanted 
the kind that was God-made. 

Sadie was big herself. Five feet eight she stood, 
bare-footed and with her hair down. There was a 
mark on the door in her hall bedroom to attest it, 
put there by No. 12, who had to stand on a chair to 
do it. 

Sadie was glad she was big. It was even better 
than being handsome, and she was both. Any time 
you saw Sadie she was worth contemplating. Just 
for a moment, then, contemplate her somewhat in 
detail: 

Five feet eight, as specified. Straight and supple, 
like a sapling, but not so slender. Sadie was 
rounded and full-bosomed. She was a forty herself. 
The penny scales said that she weighed one hundred 
and fifty-four pounds, and they spoke wisdom. If 


20 


MISTER 44 ” 


you asked her her age, she said she was twenty-four, 
and she spoke the truth. 

Why she had a head of classic shape must remain 
a mystery. You couldn’t prove eugenics by Sadie. 
There was nothing classic about the heads of the 
folk back in Ohio, nor did they share Sadie’s big- 
ness. She topped her father by two inches, while 
her mother was only shoulder high. 

Somewhere in the long ago there may have been 
ancestors with classic heads and stalwart bodies; if 
so, she never heard of them. She remembered only 
her grandfather, whose head was level and honest, 
but not classic. 

Sadie’s brow was broad and serene. Her eyes 
were gray, and they also were serene, for serenity 
and Sadie were interchangeable terms. Through 
those calm and steady eyes she looked upon the 
world curiously, frankly, and unafraid, like a child. 

She had a nose as large as a 154-pound girl ought 
to have, beautifully straight in the bridge and deli- 
cate in the nostrils. It ran generations back of the 
Ohio farm. 

Her mouth was ample in size, firm, good-natured, 
and humorous. But it could be serious, too. And 
whatever else it was, it never failed to be sincere. 

Her lips were full and red. Sadie could curl the 
lower one in fine scorn, although there was no harm 
in her. Her chin showed more than good model- 
ing; it revealed courage and independence. 

Newly cast bronze possesses the only color corre- 
sponding to Sadie’s hair. The quantity of that hair 
fairly appalled her, for she had to do it up herself, 


SADIE CHRISTENS THE SHRIMP 21 


seven dollars a week leaving nothing for the wages 
of a maid. It fell below her waist when she un- 
loosed it; ravishing to look at, the very dickens to 
comb. 

Sculptors made statues of Juno because they never 
met Sadie. She was not Juno’s little sister; she was 
her twin. Nobody ever called her pretty; it would 
have been ridiculous. She was merely handsome. 

And healthy! Sadie bloomed perennially, like a 
gorgeous flower, all in whites and pinks and creams. 
Even the factory could not stop her from blooming. 

The influence of environment may be demon- 
strated by scientists in a million ways, but not by 
Sadie. Like eugenics, it was a doctrine that fell by 
the wayside when you looked at her — which you 
usually did. The factory might put its mark on the 
Shrimp and on No. 12, but not on Juno’s sister. 

If you have paid attention to what Sadie said to 
the Shrimp — and how she said it — you suspect 
something. Much book learning was not hers. In 
fact, very little of it had chanced her way. Her 
mind was all right; it was quick, alert, and astonish- 
ingly retentive — a very sane and normal mind. It 
was rather philosophic, too; and it had a clean, di- 
rect way of getting to the point of things. It played 
no tricks on die; it gave no illusions. Above all, 
being her mmd, it could not be -else than serene. 

She knew that book-learning was a strange land, 
only to be viewed by her from the edges, for'she had 
neither time nor resources to explore it. She had 
regrets, of course; but she gave no time to sorrow 
or brooding. 


22 


“ MISTER 44 ” 


She accepted her limitations, but always with a 
reservation — “some day!” There was honest 
raw material in that mind of Sadie’s; if it had not 
been used, at least it was unspoiled. 

The row with the Shrimp had not disturbed her. 
She had almost forgotten it as she walked out of the 
factory. Probably she would have dismissed it for 
the evening if a clerk at the office window had not 
handed her a slip as she passed. The slip read : 

No. 1 8, Packing Dept. 50c. fine for violation of rule 8. 
Reported by Ferguson, supt. 

“Well, I had him right,” said Sadie as she 
crumpled the paper. 

No. 12 sidled up to her on the street and whis- 
pered indignantly : 

“Listen, Sade! No. 22 says she’s seen shrimps 
and they ain’t insects, like you said.” 

“ I should be anxious, honey,” said Sadie. 


CHAPTER II 
sadie’s Friday jinx 

E VEN a girl without a beau cannot sit in a 
seven-by-ten room on an early September 
evening, no matter if she did squander half 
a dollar in telling a man he was a shrimp. So, after 
she had eaten her dinner, Sadie Hicks wandered out 
into the street. 

That Sadie had no beau was beyond the under- 
standing of the girls in the packing department, al- 
though it was clear as crystal to her. Of course, it 
took a big man to “ go with ” Sadie. But there 
were big men in the factory. Sadie eliminated them 
easily; the outdoor test settled them. 

With the teamsters it took a little more than the 
outdoor test, yet they went with the others. They 
were not for her. She was not conscious of holding 
herself superior to them; she simply did not need 
them in her scheme of things. And when Sadie did 
not need anybody, that person who did not soon sense 
the fact was a dullard indeed. 

When she walked of an evening, however, she was 
not alone. She had an invisible escort. His name 
she did not even know. He was merely her ideal. 
He was constantly by her side, walking on the street, 
23 


24 


“ MISTER 44 ” 


sitting at the movies, standing at soda-fountains, 
riding on trolley-cars. 

Sadie took a lot of comfort out of him. For one 
thing, she did not have to share him with anybody. 
He was all hers. None of the other girls could 
even so much as look at him. She held him incom- 
municado in the prison of her imagination. 

He was a creature of many personalities, but these 
were merely his outer cloaks. Underneath he was 
always the same. 

That was one charm of having an ideal for a com- 
panion. Sadie could dress him as she pleased and 
make him what she willed, but she always knew that, 
in any guise, he was his same sturdy self. 

He was big, of course. He was brave and he was 
kind. Sometimes he was handsome, sometimes ugly 
— but always rugged. 

Whether he was rich or poor she did not know 
nor care. She never pried into his purse. He and 
Sadie were tremendous friends. 

So they walked the crowded pavement together, 
the factory, the boxes of shirts and the Shrimp for- 
gotten. They paused to study a lithograph in front 
of a movie palace : 


THE WISTFUL HEART 
A Drama qf the City in Three Reels 


Sadie and her ideal moved on — quickly. On 
the next block they paused again, where the poster 
said: 


SADIE’S FRIDAY JINX 


25 


A FLIGHT TO FREEDOM 

HOW THE BANKER’S DAUGHTER WON THE MAN 
OF HER HEART 

Two Parts 


Sadie shrugged her broad shoulders and led the 
way again. 

Presently there was a long pause ; another poster 
caught Sadie’s eye from the opposite side of the 
street. There were men and horses, lariats and six- 
shooters. 


THE MENACE OF MONTANA 

THE THIRD ADVENTURE OF 

DICK ELLISON 

IN TWO THRILLING REELS, 

WITH A COMPANY OF 

SIXTY PEOPLE 
First Time in City 


“ Montana ! ” whispered Sadie. 

She knew “ Dick Ellison.” She had a vivid mem- 
ory of the first time he ever galloped across a screen. 
The second adventure, too, was stored away in her 
mind. She had followed him through canons, 
across swollen rivers, up the mountainsides, wher- 
ever there were thrills and perils and tasks for big 
men to do. 

Was she to miss the third adventure? Sadie 
opined not. 


2 6 


“ MISTER 44 ” 


It was not until she laid her nickel at the threshold 
of the little doorway in the pane of glass that Sadie 
remembered something else — Rule No. 8 and the 
fifty-cent fine. She hesitated, for she had re- 
solved — 

The nickel disappeared and a red ticket popped 
out through the opening. Sadie sighed, but not 
sadly. She took the ticket. 

“ It wasn’t exactly my fault,” she murmured as 
she passed inside. “ That girl is awful quick at 
grabbin’ nickels.” 

You have doubtless seen the third adventure of 
Dick Ellison and have a tingling memory of the 
stage-coach that lurched so close to the edge of the 
precipice; therefore, it is unnecessary to tell what 
Sadie saw. Her ideal took his seat beside her, of 
course. That it was occupied by the corporeal per- 
son of a gum-chewing girl was no difficulty at all; 
the girl did not even know that Sadie’s ideal was 
there. 

In the middle of the first reel a curious thing hap- 
pened. Sadie’s ideal left her side and became sud- 
denly visible upon the screen. No, he did not be- 
come Dick Ellison. He was still a person without 
a name. But Sadie knew him in an instant, for all 
that, and she smiled softly. 

It was not a new experience for her; he had done 
the same thing often, and always without warning or 
explanation. She knew he would come back to her 
when the machine ceased to click, for the movie 
people were merely borrowing him for a little. 


27 


SADIE’S FRIDAY JINX 

To-night his hairy chaps proclaimed him a cow- 
boy. He rode like the wind and shot like a rapid- 
fire automatic. 

“ A good forty-two,” murmured Sadie as she 
watched him. 

Faithful always, he was by her side as she walked 
out. 

“ You did fine to-night,” she whispered to him. 

You may think he was on the screen again when 
Dick Ellison’s third adventure once more began to 
unwind. But he was not. He had left with Sadie. 
If you stayed to see the show a second time you saw 
the same figure, it is true; and he did the same things, 
without a hair’s breadth variation. 

But the soul had gone out of him, and that was 
something you could not see. Only Sadie could, for 
he was her ideal and not yours. 

Back in the seven-by-ten room Sadie sat on the 
edge of her bed, braiding burnished bronze into thick 
strands. Even after the braids were finished she 
sat there, thinking. Although she seemed to be in 
Buffalo, she was really in Montana. She had been 
there ever since the middle of the first reel. 

Her process of thought involved many little 
wrinklings of her forehead, occasional frowns, much 
pursing of the lips, and now and then a short, half- 
embarrassed laugh. At least twice she blushed. 

“ I guess it’s all right,” she said aloud, rising 
suddenly and going over to her little table. “ It’s 
not like flirting. It’s just saying hello. He won’t 
mind.” 


28 


MISTER 44 ” 


Sadie opened a box of note-paper, spread a sheet 
on the back of a magazine, and began to write. She 
wrote slowly and with many pauses. 

After a while she laid down her pen and examined 
her work critically. First she read it in silence ; then 
again, voicing the words softly, to get an idea of how 
it sounded. Then, with a vivid flush in her cheeks, 
she tore the paper into small pieces. 

Another sheet of paper came out of the box and 
there was more writing, with much laborious pen- 
manship and continuous struggle with the spelling of 
words. Pauses, burdened with little scowls and 
smiles, indicated where commas ought to be, but 
were not. 

Writing a letter was not so simple to Sadie as put- 
ting shirts into boxes, while writing this kind of a 
letter was a problem of particular intricacy, to be 
solved without the aids of precedent or experience. 

“ Sounds kinda foolish,” commented Sadie as she 
reread it. She tore it up. 

Ultimately, after fingering a third sheet of paper, 
she returned it to the box and shook her head slowly. 

“ ’Tisn’t that it’s not proper,” she mused; “al- 
though, of course, it’s not regular. But if it’s done 
at all, it’s got to be done right, and the way I do it 
doesn’t listen good. Maybe he wouldn’t under- 
stand, and I wouldn’t want him to get a wrong idea. 

“ Gee, but I could use an education for about 
three minutes ! ” 

Sadie took off her shoes and stockings, blew out 
the lamp, groped her way to the bed like a statuesque 
ghost, and lay down. The room was warm, and the 


29 


SADIE’S FRIDAY JINX 

little window, opened to its widest, was a poor sub- 
stitute for a ventilator. But it was not the lack of 
air that kept Sadie awake. It was a puzzled brain. 

Fifteen minutes later she arose briskly, located the 
matches, and relighted the lamp. She was smiling 
now, and there was a confident look in her eyes. 

The third sheet of paper emerged from the box 
and the pen began to write. Her fingers moved 
steadily but cautiously; her expression was one of 
calm satisfaction. All the hesitation, the frowns, 
and the other signals of perplexity had vanished. 

She blotted her letter carefully, held it at arm’s 
length, and read it. A proud little toss of her head 
and a faint chuckle announced the verdict. 

Out went the light again and into bed went Sadie. 
The letter was under her pillow. She was asleep in 
five minutes. 

Morning in the packing-room of the Challenge 
Shirt Company found Sadie in a state outwardly of 
placidity, but inwardly of turmoil. Occasionally she 
raised a hand to her breast with affected carelessness 
to feel if “ it ” was still safe. The soft crackle of 
paper under the touch of her fingers reassured her 
each time. 

Ordinarily Sadie paid no attenton to the desti- 
nation labels on the pasteboard boxes. All she was 
required to do was to put into each box what its slip 
called for. But now she examined labels diligently, 
though furtively. The task she had set herself was 
fraught with such an element of chance that she be- 
gan to think by the time the noon gong rang that it 


3 o “ MISTER 44 ” 

might be weeks, months, perhaps years, before she 
accomplished it. 

First, it must be an olive-drab. Second, it must 
be going to Montana. Third, it must be a forty- 
four. 

That constituted no impossible combination, of 
course. But when thirty girls besides Sadie were 
packing shirts it added thirty to one against her, in 
addition to the initial odds. She could not appeal 
for assistance, even to No. 12 . The girls would 
ask questions and Sadie had no information for them. 

The day went slowly. Sadie realized for the first 
time what an amazing number of combinations it is 
possible to make out of shirts and sizes and States. 
She had one Montana box, but they were blues. She 
packed an unusual number of forty-fours, but they 
were gray and none of them went to Montana. She 
handled olive-drabs by the gross, including every- 
thing up to forty-eights, but they went South and 
East. At other tables she could see olive-drabs dis- 
appear into boxes, and once she thought she glimpsed 
a Montana label, but ar‘d not be certain. Even so, 
it was of no benefit tc ner. 

Ferguson let her alone all forenoon. Even had 
he tried to annoy her Sadie would not have noticed 
him, for she was too intent on trying to coax her 
luck. The paper hidden in her waist now and then 
crackled a reminder, although she did not need one. 
Sometimes it scratched uncomfortably, but Sadie 
bore it as a necessary hardship of adventure. For 
that was what she knew it to be — an adventure. 

Another hour came and went in the packing-room; 


SADIE’S FRIDAY JINX 31 

it was a blistering one, too. Sadie’s note became 
damp and crumpled. Worse, it was still hiding 
against her ample breast, like a timid and guilty 
thing, looking vainly for an avenue of escape. 

She was almost downhearted. She had no idea 
why the Fates should mock her. Why, only the day 
before — the very afternoon that cost her fifty cents 
— she had packed olive-drabs for Montana; and she 
was almost positive they were big sizes, too. 

She wondered if Montana had all the olive-drabs 
it would ever need. Didn’t it ever wear out its 
shirts ? 

The afternoon was unlucky, too, because the 
Shrimp was showing symptoms of a conciliatory 
spirit. She would neither conciliate, arbitrate, nor 
mediate. He finally absorbed this fact, after Sadie 
had stated it slowly and distinctly three times. 
When it reached him at last he gaped at her and 
walked away. 

Sadie watched him go, turned to No. 12, nodded 
in the direction of the retreating Shrimp, tapped her 
forehead, and said gravely: 

“ Nobody home.” 

Then came the last hour, and with half of it gone 
Sadie was is nearly unhappy as it was possible for 
her to be. She had not even seen a Montana label. 
It seemed that Montana had quit wearing shirts, 
even blues and grays. 

She fell to consulting her mental geography, which 
was not extensive, and considered the matter of a 
substitute, not for olive-drabs, but for Montana. 
There were other States that had cowboys, others 


32 


“ MISTER 44 ” 

that had plenty of outdoors and forty-four-inch 
chests. If luck was going to run against her in this 
fashion it might be wisdom to propitiate the goddess 
by a compromise. 

Idaho and Wyoming suggested themselves im- 
mediately, but there were no labels to match them. 
There was a Colorado box, but she was not sure 
about cowboys in Colorado; she could remember 
only miners. Then there was Utah, but she was not 
certain that Mormons punched cows or wore chaps. 

It took a label to jog Sadie’s memory further. 
Arizona ! Her pulse quickened in an instant. 
Arizona meant cowboys, in all probability fully as 
large as those in Montana. 

“What’s the matter with Arizona?” she asked 
herself. And answered, “ Not a single little thing.” 

With a hand that was nervous for Sadie, but nor- 
mal for any other girl in the department, she lifted 
the order slip from the box. 

Olive-drabs ! That was point two. Sadie closed 
her eyes for an instant before she read further. 
She was not praying; just rooting. Then, with lips 
compressed, she went over the sizes. 

Thirty-eights — forties — forty-twos ! 

And forty- fours ! 

The first thing she did was to blush hotly; the sec- 
ond, to rush for a pile of olive-drab shirts. 

“ Good land, Sadie ! ” exclaimed No. 6, who 
chanced to be in her path. “ I’d as soon have a 
trolley bump me! Ain’t you hot enough without 
runnin’ ? ” 

Sadie had no time to answer. She hurried back 


33 


SADIE’S FRIDAY JINX 

to her table with an armful of shirts. Into the Ari- 
zona box went the thirty-eights, the forties, and the 
forty-twos. Now her hand lay upon the forty-fours 
and lingered caressingly. She hesitated. After 
all, ought she? Suppose — 

“ Now or never ! ” said a voice within her. 

She bent over the table, trying to conceal the 
hands that fumbled at the bosom of her shirt-waist. 
She wondered if anybody was watching her. She 
knew that her f2ce was fiery. 

Skillfully she palmed a slip of paper as a hand 
came forth with it. A second later the slip disap- 
peared into the left-hand breast-pocket of the top- 
most shirt. Then from somewhere came a pin that 
fixed the paper firmly, so that no energetic salesman 
out in Arizona would shake it from its hiding-place. 

A second time Sadie examined the size-tag on the 
shirt; then critically surveyed the garment itself. It 
was a forty-four beyond peradventure, truly labeled. 
An instant more saw it resting in the Arizona box, 
with three other forty-fours on top of it. 

Sadie slipped on the cover and drew a deep 
breath. 

“ I don’t care if it is a Friday,” she murmured. 
“ And Arizona looks good to me ! ” 

The Shrimp came running out of the office with a 
memorandum in his hand. He darted elflike from 
table to table, calling in sharp tones : 

“ Large size olive-drabs and blues, forty up ! 
Rush order! Gimme whatever you got.” 

Sadie’s cheeks paled. She knew what a rush 
order meant. It was remorseless. Swiftly she 


34 


41 MISTER 44 


looked about for the boy who carried away the filled 
boxes. If she could only get it out to the shipping- 
room it might still be safe. 

The Shrimp was approaching swiftly, breaking 
up orders right and left. He reached Sadie. 

“ Got any big drabs and blues? ” he barked. 

“ Here’s some drabs,” she said, pushing a pile 
toward him. 

“ I need a lot. What’s in there? ” 

He nodded to the Arizona box. 

“ Grays,” said Sadie smoothly. 

The Shrimp ripped the cover off the box with a 
quick movement. 

“ Grays nothin’ ! ” he exclaimed angrily. 
“ What’s the matter with you? ” 

He grabbed the box and rushed away with it. 

Sadie looked after him dully. Good-by, Arizona ! 
Good-by, cowboy! She knew not where the rush 
order was going, but she felt in her heart that it was 
not destined for the big outdoors. And this after a 
solid day of patient waiting! 

For a full minute she stood motionless, wondering 
why it had to be the Shrimp who delivered the 
crushing blow to hope. Then she sighed softly, 
reached for another box, and began stacking up 
shirts. This time she did not look at the destination 
label. 

“ Oh, well,” muttered Sadie, “ I suppose there is 
somethin’ in the Friday business. And it might be 
worse. The Shrimp can steal Arizona from me, but 
he can’t steal a forty-four-inch chest off a man.” 


CHAPTER III 


THE CITY-HATERS 

T HE man in the bow-seat lifted his paddle 
from its resting-place across the gunwale of 
the canoe, sighed wearily, made half a 
dozen perfunctory strokes, and then trailed the blade 
in the water. He turned stiffly and cautiously, every 
movement betraying his unfamiliarity with travel in 
such fashion. 

“ See here I Don’t you ever get tired? ” he de- 
manded, his voice fretful. 

The man in the stern grinned, but did not stop 
paddling. His teeth gripped a brier pipe, from 
which a delicate wisp of blue-gray smoke trailed out 
behind, as much a part of the canoe’s wake as the 
plainly marked track that ran back a quarter of a 
mile across the smooth water of the Northeast Arm. 

“ I said not to peg yourself out at the start,” he 
answered. “Take it easy. You’ll be up to it in a 
week or so. I don’t mind going it alone.” 

“ My legs are cramped,” complained the occu- 
pant of the bow-seat. “ I can’t stretch them because 
you would put that blanket-roll in the bow.” 

“Sorry,” observed the paddler; but he grinned 
again. “ Had to have some weight in the bow in 
order to get a good trim.” 

The person to whom this explanation of his nar- 
35 


3 6 “ MISTER 44 ” 

row quarters was made did not sense the full signifi- 
cance of it, for his mind was too intent on his physi- 
cal discomforts, not the least of which was a neck 
already proclaiming by its hue that the September 
sun was hot and was enjoying a cloudless afternoon. 
The bow-man did not stop to reflect that he weighed 
but a hundred and forty pounds, while about a dozen 
feet behind him crouched a genial human engine that 
scaled two hundred when in condition — which was 
always. 

The engine was sitting back on its heels, braced as 
securely as if bolted to bedplates; the upper part of 
it swayed noiselessly back and forth, with a barely 
perceptible side-roll, while the paddle cut cleanly and 
silently into the water with the regularity of a pendu- 
lum swinging twenty-eight arcs to the minute. It 
had all the marks of a well-adjusted piece of machin- 
ery, running on a middle load. 

The bow-man lighted a cigarette and smoked for 
a few minutes without speaking. His eyes dwelt 
upon the rankly wooded shore that paralleled the 
course of the canoe, a hundred yards to starboard. 
To him there was a sameness in it that bored. For 
nearly two hours he had been surveying that shore- 
line, and each mile of it had seemed exactly like the 
last — just thousands of trees, crowding each other 
for the honor of standing in the front row at the 
water’s edge. 

To the paddling man, however, this shore-line was 
a much-diversified landscape. He viewed it with 
the familiarity of trained eyes. 

He saw coves and little bays, dead forest mon- 


THE CITY-HATERS 


37 . 


archs that had fallen face forward into the glistening 
water; rocks that were guides and landmarks; 
sharply jutting capes that served as bearings for the 
navigator; gullies in the hillsides through which cold 
streams trickled into the lake ; here and there a red- 
dening maple or a yellowing birch; the entrances to 
two old portages and to one that had been cut out 
only the season before — and these were but a few 
of the things he saw. Each had a significance and 
an interest. He noted them with a quiet and atten- 
tive eye as he drove the well-laden canoe upon its 
steady course. 

“ How much further, Stod? ” asked the bow-man 
as he made a rueful examination of a blistered palm. 

“ About twenty minutes more; around the second 
point. There’s a good island there. We won’t 
begin to work full days until next week.” 

“ Full days ! ” echoed the voice from the forward 
seat. “ Don’t you call this a full one? ” 

“ We’ll only be ten miles from the station when we 
hit camp. That’s not half a day’s work.” 

The bow-man groaned. 

“ I don’t see where all the joy comes in,” he said. 
“ I think you played a trick on me, Stod.” 

The big man laughed outright and halted his 
paddle for the first time in more than an hour. 

“ You’ll get the point of view by and by,” he an- 
swered. “ After a few days your mind will unlim- 
ber, along with your muscles. Just because the 
Northeast Arm isn’t Broadway and because that 
point over there isn’t decorated with an electric sign, 
you feel like a lost soul. 


38 


“ MISTER 44 ” 

“ As a matter of fact, Larry, I don’t think you’ve 
really had a soul for several years. It ran away 
from you. I expect you’ll find it up here. This 
is where souls ,that get tired of Broadway go.” 

“ I only came here for my health,” said the bow- 
man defensively. “ The doctor said I needed a 
change and a rest. Well, I’ve got the change; but 
if you call this rest you’ve got a queer way of giving 
wrong names to things.” 

“ That’s because you have the idea that resting is 
doing nothing, son. You’ve been resting for several 
years and you’re all played out.” 

“ Oh, that’s the way all you husky folks talk. But 
I’m not built to go out and conquer a wilderness. A 
man’s got to have beef for that sort of thing.” 

“Beef? Oh, I don’t know, Larry! Before we 
go home I’ll show you an Indian up here who took a 
hundred-and-twenty-pound pack over an uphill port- 
age without setting it down until he reached the far 
end. 

“ Length of portage, one and a half miles. 
Weight of Indian, same as pack. Witnesses, myself 
and the Indian’s dog. Explanation: the Indian 
never saw Broadway.” 

The big man leaned against his paddle again, and 
the canoe, which had been losing way during the con- 
versation, began to pick up speed. 

True to the promise made to him, Larry’s eyes 
viewed an island as the canoe rounded the second 
point. It lay but a hundred yards ahead. A min- 
ute after he sighted it the canoe came to a gentle 
rest, broadside to a sloping rock, and was held steady 


THE CITY-HATERS 


39 


by the big man while Larry stepped out after a sharp 
caution to keep his foot off the gunwale. 

He walked back and forth, stamping his feet pain- 
fully and straightening his back with grunts of dis- 
comfort. 

“ I don’t see why we had to come this far to find 
an island,” he observed as he glanced up toward the 
trees. “ Seems to me we’ve passed a hundred.” 

“ Sixty-eight,” corrected the big man, who seemed 
in no hurry to get out of the canoe, but was engaged 
in refilling his pipe. “ But this is the one we 
wanted.” 

“ I don’t see any difference in them.” 

“ Why, man, they’re as different as can be ! 
Different shapes, different sizes, and different 
dispositions. Didn’t know an island could have a 
disposition? Well, you’ll learn! That’s what 
makes them interesting. Some give you the glad 
hand; some are sulky, while there are some that will 
bite if you don’t watch sharp.” 

“ Then I’m bitten, all right,” remarked Larry 
gloomily as he tenderly felt the back of his neck. 

When Stoddard finally uncoiled his long legs and 
stepped ashore the complaining one momentarily 
forgot his troubles in contemplating the marvel that 
such a huge creature could fit himself into the narrow, 
wedge-shaped stern of a Peterborough. Before 
they had embarked at the station Larry Livingston 
had doubted that the thing was possible; now that 
Stoddard was ashore again, he was still uncertain 
that the feat had been accomplished, and had a vague 
idea there was some trick in it. 


4 o 


MISTER 44 ” 


Stoddard was big, beyond denial. There were 
six feet two of him, net. Set him apart from other 
men and he did not look the height, for he carried 
width and bulk with it to an extent that made his 
altitude no freak dimension. 

As men of his size go, he was not heavy; he merely 
possessed the beef and muscle that by right belonged 
to him. Nor was he any slower in movement than 
a well-conditioned young man of medium size. His 
body moved easily and quickly, with a sense of cer- 
tainty in every effort it put forth however trivial. 
He was not leaden-footed, even in his hob-nailed 
boots. 

He broke into a laugh as he made a critical inspec- 
tion of the figure of Larry Livingston. It stood as 
a synonym for dejecti.on. Face, neck, and hands 
were scarlet from the sun and the glitter of the 
water, while the woful brown eyes that gazed upon 
Stoddard reproachfully were smarting furiously as 
the salty sweat trickled into them. 

“ Oh, it’s all right for you ! ” growled Livingston. 
“ You’re used to it. You don’t know the difference 
between a jungle and the lounge-room of a club. 
Sid Osborne said you were half a savage, and I be- 
lieve you are. But I’m still civilized, and I’ll be 
^ hanged if I’m much taken with what you’ve brought 
me into ! ” 

“ You haven’t had time yet, son.” 

Stoddard had a way of calling Livingston “ son ” 
that irked the latter. He interpreted it as a measure 
of respective bulks, whereas no such idea ever en- 
tered the^mind of the big man. Stoddard said 


THE CITY-HATERS 


41 


“ son ” because somehow he felt himself to be older 
and infinitely wiser than his companion, and just at 
present responsible for his safety and his conduct. 
In actual years Livingston was thirty-four, Stoddard 
but thirty. 

“ If I live here a year I won’t like it any better,” 
complained Livingston. “ I’m all tired out now.” 

“ And a good thing for you. You’ll sleep like a 
dead man to-night, Larry. That’s one of the things 
the doctor said you needed — sleep.” 

“ He didn’t happen to prescribe a comatose con- 
dition resulting from physical collapse, did he? ” in- 
quired Livingston, still trying to work the kinks out 
of his shoulders and legs. “ I don’t believe he ever 
meant for me to go against anything like this. He 
doesn’t understand how it is up here.” 

“ Ah, but he does understand ! ” observed Stod- 
dard, amusement still lighting his blue eyes as he 
watched his unhappy friend. “ He’s been here him- 
self — with me. 

“ And do you know what he told me, Larry? He 
said to give it to you good and plenty. Those were 
the exact terms of his prescription — ‘ good and 
plenty.’ He said you needed it worse than any 
young man he ever saw. 

“ He told me to take you where you wouldn’t see 
an all-night restaurant for a month and where you 
couldn’t hear the honk of a taxi’, even with the help 
of a long-distance telephone. 

“ That’s why you’re here, son. Don’t tell me I 
didn’t go into all the details of the treatment before 
we started. I know it. In the first place you 


42 


“ MISTER 44 ” 


wouldn’t have understood, if I’d tried to explain; in 
the second place you wouldn’t have come at all. But 
it isn’t going to hurt you; it’s more likely to be the 
making of you. 

“ No wonder you’re sunburnt. You’ve kept that 
precious hide of yours under roofs and awnings for 
so long that it’s as tender as a baby’s. Cheer up, 
Larry!” 

Livingston’s glance rested for a moment on the 
tangle of trees and underbrush a few yards from 
where they stood. 

“ But when you said coming up to the woods,” 
he began, “I thought — ” 

“ You thought it was like Central Park; I know,” 
nodded Stoddard. “ Central Park is your idea of 
the woods — a lot of nice, respectable shade-trees 
scientifically trimmed and all the holes patched with 
concrete, set out at artistic intervals on a beautiful 
green lawn. 

“ That’s only a Noah’s-a,**k woods, Larry — the 
kind you buy in the toy department. You’re look- 
ing at the real thing now, son. 

“ And you’ve seen your last lawn for several 
weeks. Central Park is all right — for the city. 
But this is the sort of stuff that belongs up here.” 

Stoddard swept his arm in a broad gesture toward 
the stretch of lake that lay before them. Deep- 
water slept without a ripple. A dazzling, golden 
band of light stretched across to the opposite shore, 
pointing the way to a sun that would soon be slipping 
down behind the tree-tops. The air was still and 
the quiet was complete. 


THE CITY-HATERS 


43 


But the quiet was not silence. A chipmunk sat 
on a cedar stump and chattered at his visitors. At 
intervals the quavering cry of a loon echoed from 
some hidden cove. A fish leaped close to the rock 
where they stood, making a cool, tinkling splash as 
it fell back into the water. 

“ Just the way it grew,” murmured Stoddard. 
“Look, Larry! Isn’t it great?” 

“ Perhaps,” assented Livingston grudgingly. 
“How about eating? I suppose it’ll be crackers 
and cold water.” 

“ Better not insult your cook,” laughed Stoddard. 
“ You can eat crackers and drink water if you like. 
I’m going to have a feed.” 

“ How soon? ” 

Livingston’s hunger was becoming a counter-irri- 
tant for his woes. 

“ After I make camp. No; don’t touch anything. 
You take a rest. I’ll attend to things.” 

With swift reaches into the canoe, Stoddard began 
depositing duffel on the rock that served as a landing- 
place. Blanket-pack, tent, grub-sacks, and all came 
out, after which the lightened craft was lifted bodily 
in a pair of huge arms and deposited, bottom up, 
among the bushes close to the shore. 

Stoddard knew the island as well as he knew his 
own room at home; in fact, in the last five years he 
had slept on the island almost as often as in his bed 
in the city. When he was not working he fled the 
city for Deepwater, where the solitude of the big 
north woods enslaved him. When he was working 
he was anywhere but in the city; in Peru sometimes, 


44 


MISTER 44 ” 


in Brazil, in Korea — wherever there might be a 
bridge to build or a stretch of railway to lay. 

But, just as Stoddard was one of the army of men 
who carry cities and civilization into the waste places, 
just so sternly did he flee from all such works each 
time a task was done. As for the waste places, he 
did not regard them as such, for he saw no waste in 
nature, even though it might be a bare, scarred 
mountainside or a stretch of yellow desert. These 
were all in the scheme of things, to him; if for noth- 
ing else, they were to be looked at. 

Livingston watched him doubtfully as he swiftly 
set up the tent in which they were to sleep. What 
Stoddard would do with the arm-loads of hemlock 
boughs that he brought from somewhere in the 
depths of the tangled little wood that clothed the 
island the novitiate from the city had no idea. Nor, 
after they had been laid bough by bough on a level 
spot of earth, did he even so much as guess, until the 
tent and its sod cloth had been stretched over them. 

“ Think I can ever sleep on that stuff? ” he asked 
doubtfully. 

“ Well, if you can’t I’ll chloroform you,” said 
Stoddard. “ But I’m willing to make a bet now that 
you won’t be awake an hour after dinner.” 

Sitting on a log and eating his meals from a 
service of tin plate were satisfying to the hunger of 
Livingston, but not to his sense of comfort and lux- 
ury. He still grumbled. 

I’m not blaming you, Stod,” he explained, 
“ but I’ll be hanged if I know how you stand it. 
How did you ever get the habit? You weren’t 


THE CITY-HATERS 


45 . 


raised to it. What do you suppose Estelle Wallace 
would say if you ever tried to spring anything like 
this on her? Or Kitty Fitch? ” 

Stoddard smiled indulgently. 

“ I’m not asking Estelle or Kitty to try it, Larry.” 

“ Well, some day you’ll hook up, Stod, and if it 
isn’t Estelle or Kitty, it’ll be somebody in the crowd. 
And do you think you can find one of them who’ll 
make a squaw out of herself to come up here, 
or turn herself into a globe-trotter for the fun of 
seeing you stick an iron girder across a canon some- 
where back of beyond? ” 

The big man laughed softly. 

“ Larry,” he said, “ you talk like a boy looking 
at a ball game through a knot-hole in the fence, who 
thinks the center-fielder is the only man on the job 
because he happens to be the only player he can see. 
If you’ll get your eye away from that knot-hole 
you’ve been looking through all your life, and climb 
up on top of the fence, or buy yourself a grand-stand 
seat, you’ll find there are a lot of people beside the 
Kittys and the Estelles playing the game. 

“ Mind you, I’m not criticizing the Kittys and the 
Estelles. They’re nice, good girls, and they’re all 
right. So are Central Park and Broadway. But 
the earth runs a bit beyond Broadway and the Park, 
and even beyond Fifth Avenue. And there are lots 
of people in the world beside the Kittys and the 
Estelles. 

“ It all depends on what you’re looking for, son. 
Now, when I’m in Central Park I like Kitty. She 
fits it beautifully. Kitty and the Park harmonize. 


46 


MISTER 44” 


When I’m on Fifth Avenue I like Estelle. The 
avenue was made for Estelle to walk on and she 
adorns it. But — ” 

Stoddard paused for an instant to rescue the cof- 
fee-pot, which threatened to slide into the embers. 

“ Well,” he added, “ I guess the answer is that 
I don’t spend much time on the Avenue, or in Cen- 
tral Park.” 

“ Talk all you like, Stod; but if I had the amount 
of experience you’ve had, I’d be a consulting engi- 
neer, and I’d have my office in New York, and I’d 
not stir out of it. That’s what the big men are do- 
ing.” 

“ Maybe I’ll do it, too, some day — after things 
.are all built up everywhere else.” 

To Livingston there was something disgusting in 
the spectacle of a man washing dishes. Hot, soapy 
water with a skim of grease made him shudder, al- 
though Stoddard seemed to find it an effective agent 
for his purpose and cheerfully sloshed his big hands 
around in the tin bucket as if he enjoyed his task. 
Occasionally he added a split log to the fire, which 
burned redly against the now somber background 
of evergreens. With the dark came a fresh 
coolness, and the feel of the night air exhilarated 
him. 

It was with Livingston as predicted; sleep over- 
took the man who needed it. When his third ciga- 
rette had dropped half-smoked from his lips Liv- 
ingston felt his shoulder shaken by a firm hand. 

“ Into the tent for you, Larry,” Stoddard was 
saying. “ You almost fell into the fire that time.” 


THE CITY-HATERS 


47 


Drowsily he felt himself being propelled through 
an opening in the bobinet front. Then Livingston 
stretched himself on a blanket that seemed at first 
to support him lightly, then to yield gently beneath 
his weight so that he was sinking down, down, 
down — 

A kick applied to the sole of his foot half-awak- 
ened him with a start. 

“ What did you do with the matches? ” demanded 
the voice of Stoddard. 

“ Matches?” 

“ Sure. Matches.” 

“ Matches ! ” repeated the drowsy voice of 
Livingston. “Why, I — Matches? Oh, yes. 
Matches — matches, matches, mat — ” 

His words trailed off into a snore. 

Stoddard laughed and walked away from the tent. 

“ But what the deuce did I do with those 
matches?” he muttered. 

He thrust his hands into the pockets of his- trous- 
ers and began an exploration. It yielded no 
matches. He picked up his coat and repeated the 
search. No matches! With an exclamation of an- 
noyance he began slapping his clothing, as if matches 
might spring forth from any part of it. He shoved 
his fingers into a breast-pocket of his shirt. It was 
empty. Then — 

“The devil! ” 

Stoddard’s exclamation was loud and heartfelt as 
he watched the blood drip from a finger that had 
been investigating the left breast-pocket. 

“ Wha — what’s the matter?” demanded Liv- 


48 “ MISTER 44 ” 

ingston, as his head appeared at the opening in the 
tent. 

“ Oh, you woke that time, did you? ” 

“You yelled loud enough to wake a corpse. 
What’s happened? ” 

“ Nothing. I just pricked my finger.” 

“ On what?” 

“ Oh, somebody left a price-tag in the pocket of 
my shirt. Go to bed.” 

“ They don’t put price-tags in pockets. I don’t 

_ _ _ >> 

see — 

“ They put one in this pocket, anyhow,” Stoddard 
interrupted. “ Back in the blankets, Larry.” 

Livingston’s curiosity, aroused for an instant, was 
presently overcome by a return of somnolence. 
Mumbling something about tags, he crawled back to 
his couch. 

Stoddard made no move to reexamine his pocket 
until he was assured that his charge was slumbering 
again. He was fully acquainted with that person’s 
thirst for knowledge of things which did not con- 
cern him, and he knew instinctively that this was 
something that was solely his own affair. Also, he 
knew there was no price-tag in the pocket. 

There was a pin there ; also a piece of paper. He 
felt both. The pin had pricked him and the paper 
had crumpled under his fingers. It was not a tag. 

He made his way to the fire and sat down, his 
back to the tent. With a final glance to satisfy him- 
self that the prying eyes of Livingston were not 
watching him, he began to explore the pocket with 
cautious fingers. The pin pricked him again, but he 


THE CITY-HATERS 


49 

bore the infliction stoically. At last he located the 
head and drew it out. After that came the paper. 

It had been folded several times; as Stoddard 
smoothed it he observed that its cheap texture was 
ruled with faint blue lines. Holding it close to the 
glow of the fire, this is what he read: 

Hello there, Mr. 44 — 

Do you like your job lasoing cows I would Its in the 
movies all the time and Fm crazy about it — I hate my job 
it’s to shut up — I hate schrimps, to Wish I could live 
outdoors like you — Any job out your way for a girl who 
wants to lose the city Let me know if there is — Please 
If you ever worked in a factory you know what I mean — 
No. 18, packing dept Challenge Shirt Co. Buffalo N. Y. 
reaches me — Well youve got my number, Fourty-four — 
and Ive got yours. Dont forget that job — So long 

P. S. You were in the movies to-night 

Stoddard stared from the note into the embers; 
then turned his eyes to the paper again and reread 
it. A smile came to his lips. He lifted his head 
to laugh, but something checked him and his eyes 
became suddenly serious. 

“ The poor kid! ” he said softly. 

He studied the handwriting carefully. It was by 
no means bad. There was an untaught air about 
it, of course; punctuation and spelling faltered here 
and there; yet there was a certain character in it that 
surprised him. At any rate it was not weak. 

The contents puzzled him. Clearly it was never 
meant for his eyes. 

Who was “Mr. 44”? He gave it up. Evi- 


“ MISTER 44 ” 


! 5 ° 

dently a cowboy, from the context. Cowboys, he 
knew, frequented the picture-screen; he never did. 

“ Schrimps.” That was another puzzler. Why 
did she hate them, granting that she meant 
“shrimps”? Sentence by sentence he pored over 
the message. 

There were some things about it he liked. It 
did not cringe nor fawn. She hated her job, ex- 
plained why, and did not lament. It was not senti- 
mental. He had heard of love-sick maidens writ- 
ing notes on eggs, or slyly sticking a correspondence- 
invitation in a box of strawberries; but this was dif- 
ferent. Here was a factory-girl who wanted an- 
other kind of a job, said so, and let it go at that. 

“ Any job out your way? ” 

He wondered where she thought her message 
would go. Outdoors, at any rate. She made that 
clear. 

There was one phrase that he read most of all — 
“ a girl who wants to lose the city.” Involuntarily 
Stoddard glanced back at the tent. He was think- 
ing what Livingston would say to that. 

To lose the city! The very thing Stoddard had 
been doing for nearly half his life — losing it, shun- 
ning it, returning to it under protest, fleeing it when 
he could. 

Larry, snoring in the blankets, could not under- 
stand that — but he could. Estelle and Kitty could 
not understand, either. They were all of the city, 
captives who would not be free if their bonds were 
loosed. It was their life, beyond which they could 
conceive no other. 


THE CITY-HATERS 


5-1 


Himself they rather pitied. Even his mother and 
sister pitied him; but they were impatient with him, 
too. They saw no reason why the four quarters of 
the globe called to him; why he would sooner live 
under the open sky than in a mansion; why he was 
forever tramping off to some wilderness, to seek what 
they thought was privation, rather than to accept 
ease and comfort where men had made life a lux- 
ury. Stoddard had never attempted much explana- 
tion. They would not understand. 

But here was a strange sort of girl, he thought, 
as he read the letter again. Here was no Kitty nor 
Estelle, hiding from the sun under a parasol, or 
shrinking within the glass walls of a limousine from a 
breeze that might set her cheeks and ears tingling. 

Here was a girl who wanted air! The city was 
too shut up ! She would “ lose it ” ! A new kind 
of girl to Stoddard. 

He wondered what she was like. Some pinch- 
cheeked creature, probably, pining for escape from 
the four walls of a city factory; yet the letter 
breathed a certain spirit of robustness that he could 
not associate with this picture. 

Illiterate, of course. That, also, was a new type 
to Stoddard. Estelle and Kitty spelled and punctu- 
ated perfectly and wrote the most charming and con- 
ventional notes. 

He found himself very curious concerning No. 18. 
What sort of a name did she have? Was she 
pretty? How old? What sort of a job did she 
want, outdoors? 

“ She’s got the big idea as a foundation, anyhow,” 


52 


“ MISTER 44 


he said, half aloud. “ I never met that kind. 
Wants to lose the city — and all the ones that I know 
are moving the other way! ” 

The fire burned low while Stoddard smoked and 
thought, the letter from the girl who wanted to live 
outdoors still between his fingers. For an hour he 
sat motionless, most of the time staring across the 
dying coals to where stars were faintly reflected in 
the dark water. Then he roused himself, reached 
for his coat, and began fumbling in the pockets. He 
found what he thought. 

“ I think I’ll find out some more about No. 18,” 
he muttered, as he hunted for some blank pages in a 
note-book. 


CHAPTER IV 


STODDARD BEATS THE PORTAGE 

T HE composition of a letter addressed to a 
mere number, by the light of a fading camp- 
fire, with a knee as a desk and a stub of pen- 
cil as a substitute for a pen, was not the simplest of 
tasks for Stoddard. He had written field reports 
under conditions infinitely worse, and had even made 
intricate mathematical calculations in a fever-swamp, 
where the ticks and mosquitoes supplied constant di- 
version; but this was different. 

It was easy enough to begin — “ Dear Miss No. 
1 8.” But when he had written that he paused a 
long time. If it had been destined for Kitty or 
Estelle he would not have hesitated, for there were 
set rules and forms for the Kitty and Estelle type. 
No. 1 8 was not merely an unfamiliar species ; she was 
also an unnamed one. He felt like an archer letting 
fly an arrow toward the sun. 

Yet doubts and difficulties could not interfere now, 
for Stoddard had determined that a letter should be 
written — which settled it. It was merely a matter 
of material and method; the adventure itself had 
been fixed upon. 

He found the task far more difficult than comput- 
ing factors of safety, or running a mountain-line with 
a five-per-cent, grade limit. For a while he was un- 
53 


54 


41 MISTER 44 


decided whether to be in light or serious mood. He 
reread the letter that came in his olive-drab shirt and 
endeavored to adopt the spirit of it; he would be 
serious without being solemn. Also, he would try to 
be cheerful without being frivolous. 

One thing he would not be — sentimental. Stod- 
dard was far from being devoid of sentiment. He 
had a full man’s share of it. But he had a horror 
of sentimentality. Between the two he recognized 
a wide gulf. 

It was no trouble for him to avoid sentimentality. 
He merely applied to the letter destined for Miss 
No. 1 8 an unconscious yet invariable rule of his own 
— anybody might read anything he wrote without 
bringing a blush to his cheeks. 

Once fairly under way, the letter ran along easily 
enough. It was not very long. After inspecting his 
work Stoddard was satisfied with it. 

To obtain an envelope was to risk awakening 
Larry, but it was a chance that had to be taken. 
There was a small pack that contained a few envel- 
opes; this Larry was using as a pillow. But now he 
was too deep in slumber to be aroused by a mere dis- 
turbance of his head, while his own snores blotted 
out the gentle rustling noise made by Stoddard’s 
hands. 

Stoddard stepped softly back to the camp-fire and 
looked at his watch. It was nearly ten o’clock. He 
wanted to get that letter in the mail. To-morrow 
there would be no chance, for Livingston, fretful and 
demanding attention, would be on his hands. 

He remembered that the south-bound night mail 


STODDARD BEATS THE PORTAGE 55 

stopped at Deepwater Station at .eleven forty. 
That meant ten miles of paddling, with the issue in 
doubt at the finish. Nor was he particularly de- 
sirous of paddling back to camp again, even if he 
made the train. 

There was one alternative — the Lower Station. 
The south mail would not reach there until eleven 
fifty. The Lower Station was merely a lonely plat- 
form in the woods, built where the railroad line 
touched one of the deeply indented bays of Deep- 
water. It had been established with a view to the 
convenience of patrons of the hotel on Deepwater 
Island; but, although it offered a shorter route to 
that hostelry, it was so little used that trains no 
longer made it as a regular stop, halting only on 
signal. 

From Stoddard’s camp the all-water route to the 
Lower Station was even longer than that to Deep- 
water postoffice, for it involved the skirting of a con- 
siderable peninsula. But there was another route, 
far shorter, if more toilsome. It meant a portage 
across the neck of the peninsula — not more than 
half a mile — while the total paddling would be cut 
to six. 

“ It’s the best bet,” he assured himself. 

Cautiously he lifted the canoe from its resting- 
place in the bushes and carried it to the water. As 
he stepped in he glanced up the slope toward the 
tent. 

“ He’s good till morning,” muttered Stoddard. 

He paddled noiselessly until a hundred yards lay 
between the canoe and the island, which now, save 


“ MISTER 44 ” 


56 

for the faint glow of the fire, lay a dark blur against 
the high ground of the mainland. Then he began to 
dip his blade deeply, and the canvas craft leaped 
ahead through the darkness. 

Stoddard laid a course diagonally across the north- 
east arm of the lake. He knew there would be 
more than three miles of going before he touched the 
end of the portage. By daylight the trip to the 
Lower Station would be one of comparative leisure 
within the time limit allotted to him. In the dark 
of an early September night it became something of 
a problem. The portage was what gave him con- 
cern. 

At best it was poor — rock nearly all of the way, 
with a sharp drop at the farther end, and scores of 
ankle-twisting holes and crevices. It was three years 
since he had crossed it, so that the chances of run- 
ning into a tangle of underbrush and fallen trees 
were excellent; for Stoddard knew the route was 
traveled less than half a dozen times a season, and 
then only by guides or Indians who were in a hurry 
to make a particular journey and did not mind its 
difficulties. As for the forest rangers, they never 
took the trouble to keep it cut out. 

Stoddard liked to travel at night. The coolness 
of the air against his bare throat and arms exhila- 
rated him. He loved the silence that enveloped 
him. The woods country, with only the stars look- 
ing down upon it, quickened his imagination. He 
felt the mystery of it; yet, somehow, as if he were 
nearer to its secret than when the sun searched out 
every recess of lake and hills. 


STODDARD BEATS THE PORTAGE 57 

The sentinel pines that stood in isolation on the 
ridges were dead black against the sky; they were 
self-reliant, aloof, vigilant — watching over the for- 
est that slept. The lapping of the water against the 
bow of the canoe had a different note at night; the 
faintly moving breeze had a different odor, with a 
fresh dampness born only of the darkness. These 
were hours when Stoddard felt he was permitted to 
touch gently the pulse of the slumbering wilderness. 

The canoe ran on swiftly. As it came within the 
increasing gloom of the opposite shore he altered 
the course slightly and ran close to the bank. The 
way to the portage was through a little cove, easy 
to miss even in daylight, and he had no time to waste 
in haphazard search. His eyes intent upon the 
rocks and trees at his left, he moved ahead at slower 
pace for a couple of hundred yards until, with a nod 
of satisfaction, he turned the bow sharply inland. 
The canoe entered a tiny, sheltered bay. 

Instinctively his paddle paused in mid air and Stod- 
dard cocked an ear forward. For several seconds 
he listened thus ; then called in a low tone : 

“ Ho, boy!” 

The answer was abrupt, and would have been 
startling to a man not expecting it. 

The sharp snort of a moose came as a challenge 
through the darkness, followed by a heavy splash. 
Then, in quick succession, came a series of plunges 
in the shallow water of the cove. An instant later 
there was a tearing and crashing of underbrush, fol- 
lowed by the noise of cracking saplings and the thud- 
ding of heavy feet It was as if a whirlwind had 


“ MISTER 44 


58 

suddenly been loosed in the forest, or the mail train 
itself had left the steel line and was running wild. 

For a full minute Stoddard sat motionless, listen- 
ing to the fading din. Then there was silence again. 
He dipped his paddle. 

“ Late hours, my friend,” he said with a laugh. 
“ But I wish I could travel like that after dark! ” 

Moose are plentiful in the Deepwater country, and 
Stoddard knew the swampy little cove, with its rushes 
and water-lilies, to be a popular haunt. 

“ Queer how a voice startles them,” he mused, as 
he pushed the canoe through a patch of grass until 
the bow touched the shore. “ I’ve no doubt he 
heard me for a hundred yards back and never 
budged until I spoke.” 

Stoddard’s fears for the condition of the portage 
were not without ground. He poked about for sev- 
eral minutes in the darkness, and finally lighted a 
match before he found the entrance to the faint trail. 
Then, lashing the paddles crosswise on the thwarts, 
he lifted the canoe, swung it over his head with a 
rolling motion, and settled it easily on his shoulders. 

“ Now to see if my feet remember anything,” he 
said as he pushed forward into the woods. 

As for any aid his eyes would offer in keeping to 
the path, they might as well have been blindfolded. 
The portage was as dark as a tunnel. But Stoddard 
had a woodsman’s recollection of places; he traveled 
by a series of mental maps. His legs possessed 
a subconscious memory of routes they had once 
followed, and he was putting his trust in them 
now, 


STODDARD BEATS THE PORTAGE 59 

The first two hundred yards of the carry was the 
easiest part, but he had covered less than half of this 
when he became aware that the little used trail was 
annoyingly obstructed with new forest growth. Un- 
derbrush clutched at his legs and tried to trip him. 
Young branches brushed their wet leaves against the 
smooth sides of the canoe, now and again pressing it 
so closely from both sides as to check his progress. 
His seventeen-foot burden gave him no concern on 
the score of weight, but it was difficult to guide its 
awkward bulk where he could not see half its length 
ahead of him. 

There were sharp turns in the path; thus, long be- 
fore his cautiously placed feet reached them, the ca- 
noe would project into the tangle beyond, so that he 
would have to halt and back off until the bow swung 
clear again. Once the stem of the craft ran squarely 
into a solid tree-trunk, bringing him to a jarring stop 
that made his teeth click. It was slow work. 

When the rise began the going became worse. 
He took no step without feeling well in front of him 
with outstretched foot. Stoddard was not inviting 
a sprained ankle or a broken leg. A fallen tree that 
he remembered well still lay across the path, but there 
was another of more recent date that had no place 
in his mind-map. 

He discovered it by the simple method of falling 
over it. It struck him almost waist-high, and the 
momentum of the burden on his shoulders carried 
him across it. For a few seconds the impact of his 
head against the stony path bewildered him. As he 
tenderly examined the aching spot with his fingers, 


6o 


MISTER 44 


a warm dampness told him there was a cut as well as 
a bruise. 

But his legs and arms concerned him more than 
his head, for the task he had set himself was pecu- 
liarly theirs. Stoddard was satisfied to discover that 
they had suffered no damage. 

The canoe lay across him; when he crawled from 
under it he hastily passed his hands over the outer 
canvas. More luck; there were no holes in it. 

“ I’ll remember that tree,” he said philosophically, 
as he shouldered his burden again. 

The path grew worse and worse as the grade in- 
creased, but he expected this. In fact, the sharper 
the incline the nearer he was to the top. He was 
thankful for the new hob-nails in the soles of his 
hunting-boots, for they clung faithfully where he 
planted them. He shunned shoe-packs where the go- 
ing was rough. 

The ground became level again, but he doubled 
his caution. The smooth spot was one of the tricks 
of the portage, to delude the unwary after night- 
fall. It was but the threshold to a steep incline, bad 
enough to negotiate by day and a real danger in 
darkness. A few steps brought him to the edge 
of it. 

Then he descended. Loose stones moved under 
his feet, and often he had to kick them aside to find 
safe ground. It needed not their crashing through 
the brush to tell him that the hillside was precipitous 
and treacherous. 

Again he fell, but a sapling about which he flung 
a groping arm stopped a headlong plunge. His back 


STODDARD BEATS THE PORTAGE 6 1 


throbbed where it had disputed possession of space 
with a bowlder, and the new olive-drab shirt ripped 
at the shoulder. Once more he examined the canoe 
with solicitous hands; then grimly lifted it again to 
his shoulder and resumed his descent. 

“ Two falls,” he muttered. “ Usually there’s a 
third.” 

There was. It came near the bottom of the hill. 
The canoe finished the remainder of the distance 
without him. 

“ Talk about a moose making a racket! ” he ex- 
claimed. “ The noise that old bull made was like a 
whisper alongside of me.” 

He found the canoe when the end of it barked a 
shin, picked it up in one hand, as an impatient mother 
grabs a fretful child, and lugged it forward uncere- 
moniously to the water’s edge. It floated without 
leaking. 

A few yards from shore Stoddard glanced upward 
at the height just crossed. It seemed fairly to over- 
hang the waters of Island Bay. His head throbbed, 
his back ached, his hands and arms smarted from a 
score of scratches; yet he chuckled. 

“ Well, I beat you, old man ! ” he said, saluting his 
enemy. “ But you gave me a good run for it.” 

Half-way across the bay he ceased paddling for 
an instant to wipe the sweat from his eyes and plunge 
his arms elbow-deep into the water. 

“ No. 1 8 ,” he muttered reflectively, as he patted 
the breast-pocket of his shirt, “ you’ll never know 
what a compliment you’re getting to-night.” 

Island Bay was named for obvious reasons. It 


6 2 


14 MISTER 44 ” 


cannot be crossed in a direct line from shore to shore, 
for the canoe route is devious, finding its way by 
many turnings through the narrow channels that di- 
vide the islands. 

But this was easy for Stoddard. He drove his 
craft onward without hesitation. He paddled 
swiftly, too, for all his lameness and bruises. There 
was boyish exultation of spirit within him. He felt 
that he had done something worth while. 

Clear of the islands, there was but a mile to go. 
He lighted a match and glanced at his watch. There 
was still time to make the train, but none for loaf- 
ing. The portage had taken far longer than the 
time he had allowed for it. 

The distant but distinct whistle of a locomotive 
warned him to be alert as he ran the canoe along- 
side a neglected wharf. He hastened up the path 
that led to the Lower Station, again feeling in his 
pocket to make sure that his letter was safe. 

“ I feel like writing a postscript,” he said as he 
stepped upon the dimly lighted platform. “ I 
will!” 

Standing under the station light, he withdrew the 
letter from its unsealed envelope and added a few 
words to the bottom. 

“Wonder if she’ll understand that?” he re- 
marked, laughing, as he sealed the envelope. 

Then he turned the signal-light so that the red eye, 
instead of the green, looked up the track. 

“Good! Catch um train for me,” said a quiet 
voice at his elbow. 


STODDARD BEATS THE PORTAGE 63 

Stoddard whirled quickly and looked down at a 
small man whose approach had been noiseless. 

“ Why, hello, John! ” he cried heartily. 

A white man would have winced under the hand- 
grip bestowed upon him, but the Indian merely 
grinned, although he was not insensitive to the vise- 
like pressure. 

“ You come yesterday,” he remarked. 

“ That’s right. Camped over on the Northeast 
Arm.” 

“Sure!” nodded the Indian. “I know. Go 
back to-night? ” 

“ Not much. I’ll be here for a month, I imagine. 
Just came over to mail a letter.” 

There was a flicker of surprise in the Indian’s eyes. 

“ Hurry-up letter — eh? You run short of some- 
thing? ” 

“ No, we’re not short. But the letter happened 
to be important, so I brought it over to catch the 
train.” 

The condition of Stoddard’s clothing and the 
marks upon his hands and arms were not lost upon 
John. 

“ How you come? ” he asked. 

“ Took the old portage across the neck. No time 
to go around.” 

Again the Indian gravely inspected him. 

“ Big hurry-up letter! ” was his only comment. 

The headlight of an approaching train dazzled 
Stoddard’s eyes for an instant, and the sound of 
grinding brakes reached the pair on the platform. 


6 4 


“ MISTER 44 


“ Mail letter for you? ” asked John. 

“ I wish you would,” said Stoddard gratefully, 
feeling in his pockets for money to pay the postage. 
“You won’t forget it? ” 

“ Mail him first thing,” promised the Indian as he 
took the letter. 

“ And where are you going? ” 

“ Red Lake. Back to-morrow maybe. Next 
day, anyhow.” 

The train stopped and the Indian swung aboard. 

“ Come over and see us, John,” called Stoddard 
as the air-brakes loosened their grip with a sigh and 
the darkened cars slowly resumed their journey 
down-grade. 

“ Sure ! I come. Mail letter now.” 

Stoddard stood on the lonely platform until the 
tail-lights of the retreating train vanished in the 
blackness. It was midnight, and camp was a long 
journey. Were it not for Livingston alone on the 
island he would have stripped a few hemlocks for 
bedding, stretched himself under the canoe, and made 
a night of it where he was. But Larry, helpless and 
timid novice, could not be left to shift for himself. 
He could not even make tea for breakfast. 

Reluctant at the thought of more than two hours’ 
travel before he reached his blankets, Stoddard went 
slowly down to the landing and launched the canoe. 
The longest way around would be his homeward 
route. Having conquered the portage once, he did 
not propose to give it a return battle. 

As he crossed the Island Bay and headed toward 
the point of the peninsula, Stoddard’s mind was try- 


STODDARD BEATS THE PORTAGE 65 

ing to create a picture. The scene was a room in 
a shirt-factory. He imagined it cluttered, crowded, 
and unattractive. Persons were running about 
nervously and irritably. There were haggard girls 
working at machines, limp as the garments that 
passed through their fingers. The air was hot and 
vitiated. 

One of the girls in his picture was No. 18, yet he 
could not clearly pick her out. Sometimes she was 
dark, sometimes fair; now she was plain of face, and 
again she was pretty. But she was always tired and 
wan, and there was ever a look of yearning in her 
eyes. 

No. 18 ! She was not really a person at all. She 
was merely a part of a factory — a numbered part. 
Stoddard had never thought of girls simply as num- 
bers. The Kittys and the Estelles possessed per- 
sonalities, however inconsequential they might be; 
they had the right to be known as individuals. They 
ranked as human beings! But No. 18 — she was 
merely a mathematical item. 

It was nearly three o’clock when he landed at the 
island, and he knew instantly by the brightly blaz- 
ing fire that Larry was awake. As his steel-shod 
boots scraped on the rocks a voice from the tent 
called sharply: 

“ Who’s that?” 

Stoddard laughed silently at the apprehension in 
the tone. 

“Stoddard! ” he answered as he hauled out the 
canoe. 

“Where in blazes have you been?” demanded 


66 “ MISTER 44 ” 

Livingston, emerging into the firelight. “ I woke up 
and — and — ” 

“ Just went out for a little paddle,” said Stoddard. 

“That’s a nice trick! Leaving a man all alone 
in a hole like this!” the other exploded. “Sup- 
pose anything happened to you! Who’d find me? 
What would I do ? ” 

“ Why, you could just wait for things to freeze 
up and walk ashore, Larry. There’s lots of grub.” 

“ But I say, Stod, it’s not fair ! It’s — ” 

“Tut, Larry; you’re interrupting me,” chided 
Stoddard as he pushed his way into the tent. 

“ Interrupting! What have you got to do? ” 

“ Sleep, son.” 

But in Buffalo at that same hour there was no 
slumber for Sadie Hicks. In her nightgown, with 
her golden-bronze hair hanging in two thick plaits 
across her deep bosom, she sat on the edge of her 
cot, staring half hypnotized into the spitting point 
of gas-flame, repining over her letter that went 
astray — wondering, puzzling, scheming. And 
through all the bemused tangle of her thought there 
ran — felt rather than expressed — the call of the 
great outdoors. 


CHAPTER V 


SADIE GETS A LETTER 

m™ ifty-cent fine did not annoy Sadie. 

She paid it on Saturday night — or rather 

JL observed that it had been accurately de- 
her envelope — and the incident was 
dismissed from her mind. But a new trouble had 
come to dwell with her. The cutting-room boss was 
responsible for it. 

Sadie had never taken any particular notice of 
him; he was merely a colorless “ medium.” It sur- 
prised her therefore, when he devised an opportu- 
nity to talk to her at the noon hour. 

Sadie was not unaware of her own charms, for 
she was intelligent and human. When the cutting- 
room boss sat beside her on the bench where she was 
eating her sandwich she sighed therefore, for she in- 
terpreted the attention merely as the beginning of 
another affair that would have to be slain in its early 
youth. 

She was indignant, too; for No. 26 was the girl 
who had always received his attentions, and No. 26 
was Sadie’s friend. She had an astonished contempt 
for his fickleness, as well as a stout loyalty to the 
feather-brained little brunette at the next table. 

The cutting-room boss was indirect and mysteri- 
6 ; 


68 


“ MISTER 44 ” 


ous of speech, circumstances which explained Sadie’s 
puzzled expression and the fact that she did not 
clearly understand him for several minutes. When 
she finally discerned the point at which he was aim- 
ing in wabbly fashion she was at first amused, then 
doubly resentful. 

The cutting-room boss was not disloyal to No. 26 ; 
he was not “ making a play ” for himself. He was 
an emissary, an ambassador, truly extraordinary — 
and his credentials were from the Shrimp ! 

When Sadie came to a realization of this she made 
a slow and careful survey of the person of the cut- 
ting-room boss, which is a woman’s preface to re- 
marks that are about to be made. He bore the scru- 
tiny with what composure a man can assume under 
such circumstances — very little. 

Even a man who is immaculately correct in person 
and raiment, and knows it, is not immune to the ef- 
fects of feminine eyes that coldly inspect, review, and 
estimate; doubt of himself is at once born in his 
mind. And the cutting-room boss was not immacu- 
late. 

He shuffled his feet, coughed, and glanced about 
the room, only to encounter the cold glare of No. 26. 

“ You see, Ferguson’s all right,” he went on 
hastily. “ Only he’s quick sometimes. He’s got 
lots of worries in this here department. And y’ can’t 
blame him so much. He feels awful bad, Sadie, 
about that fine.” 

“Fine?” repeated Sadie, wrinkling her fore- 
head. “ Oh, you mean last week, I guess. This is 
Monday. I forgot all about it. I balance the 


SADIE GETS A LETTER 


69 


books every Saturday night and carry nothin’ over.” 

“ Well, he does feel bad,” continued the ambassa- 
dor. “ He’d like to make it up some way if he 
could — throw some extra time in your way may- 
be. There’s going to be some rush work soon, and 
some of the girls’ll be pullin’ down a little loose 
change gettin’ the stuff out. He’d like to be friends, 
too.” 

“ Dear me! ” said Sadie. 

“ Sure ! He feels you and him ain’t got no good 
cause to scrap. Little spats are all in the day’s work; 
they don’t count after the gong rings.” 

“ So?” 

“ Even Marne and I have ’em,” he confessed. 

Sadie did him the honor of another inspection, 
looked across the room, bestowed a fleeting wink 
upon No. 26, and said: 

“ Let’s you and me get down to plain talk, Mr. 
Schwartz.” 

“ Sure ! Sure ! ” he assented. 

“ I’ll shoot questions and you answer.” 

“ Sure — all right, Sadie.” 

“ Did the Shrimp send you to me? ” 

“The who?” 

“ Ferguson.” 

“ Well, he kinda suggested that I might — ” 

“ Might what?” 

“Oh, just have a little talk! Y’ see, he don’t 
quite feel — ” 

“ You’ve got him right,” interrupted Sadie. 
“ He’s one of those 1 don’t-quite ’ folks. So he sent 
you to fix things up with me ? ” 


70 


MISTER 44 ” 


“ Well, if you wanta put it that way, I suppose he 
did.” 

“ Like the job? ” inquired Sadie sweetly. 

“ I consider I’m doin’ a friend a favor,” said the 
cutting-room boss defensively. “ I’d do as much 
for any friend.” 

“ Don’t seem to me,” mused Sadie, “ that I’d care 
a whole lot about bein’ a phonograph record or <i 
shrimp. Seems to me I’d feel I was playin’ a pretty 
punk tune, Mr. Schwartz. Ever give it the once- 
over from that angle?” 

“I ain’t done nothin’ wrong, I hope,” said 
Schwartz stiffly. 

“All right — maybe not. But listen: I don’t 
think it’s a man’s job to run errands for a shrimp. I 
expect you call yourself a man; I’ll take a chance on 
it, anyhow. No, I’m not mad at you; that ain’t 
worth while, Mr. Schwartz. I’m just sorry — for 
the cuttin’ department. I got friends who work 
there. 

“ Now, you can tell the Shrimp — not as a mes- 
sage from me, because I ain’t sendin’ messages to 
him through third parties or any other way — you 
can just advise him like a friend to keep away from 
No. 1 8. Just sort of give him your opinion that 
things look kinda bad; high winds prevailin’ from the 
northeast, or something like that. 

“ You get the idea. Because, you see, he’s little 
and he ain’t as careful as he might be, and he oughta 
have somebody advise him. I don’t mind if you 
tell him I’m heavy-footed and clumsy sometimes, and 
I don’t always look where I’m goin’. Honest, I’d 


SADIE GETS A LETTER 


7i 

feel awful mean if I happened to step on him, Mr. 
Schwartz.” 

The cutting-room boss, red in the cheeks, went 
back to his department. Sadie finished her sand- 
wich. 

“ What was he sayin’, Sadie? ” whispered No. 12 
as the gong rang and the packing of shirts began 
again. 

“ Just singin’ one of those light-opera gems, 
deary.” 

No. 12 did not pursue her inquiry. When Sadie 
wanted to talk she talked; when she did not it was 
useless to urge her. 

But the day was not over for Sadie. It was des- 
tined to be marked on her calendar in flaming red. 
And give the Shrimp credit for this. 

He stopped at her table and said in a low voice: 
“ You insulted a friend of mine, No. 18.” 

“ Any friend of yours is welcome to the same, Mr. 
Ferguson,” answered Sadie cordially. 

“ I won’t stand fer it! ” 

“ Sure you won’t.” 

“ Friends of mine are entitled to be treated re- 
spectful in my department. Y’ understand? ” 

“ No.” 

“Well, you’ll understand it after that!” he 
snarled. “ I’ll make you! ” 

“ You’re botherin’ me,” said Sadie. “ Interrupt- 
in’ my work. I’m here to work and not to talk to 
friends of yours. So long as I do what I’m paid for 
you’ve got no kick. Run, now ! ” 

The Shrimp went away, but with an idea in his 


72 


“ MISTER 44 ” 

mind that Sadie had unconsciously planted. She 
was there to work, was she? He intended to see 
whether she did. 

So the Shrimp spent the next hour watching. 
There was something almost like a glitter in his eyes 
when he next approached Sadie’s table. 

“ You only packed two boxes in the last half- 
hour,” he announced for the room to hear. 

“ Correct,” said Sadie. “ Been waitin’ for order- 
slips.” 

“ Whadda you call those ? ” 

The Shrimp pointed to half a dozen sheets of 
paper that lay on the table. Sadie looked down at 
them in surprise, then back at her accuser. 

“ They weren’t there ten seconds ago,” she ob- 
served. 

“They been there twenty minutes; I seen them.” 

“ I think you just slipped ’em there yourself, Fer- 
guson,” said Sadie composedly. 

“ You mean to say — ” 

“That you put ’em there? Yes, I’ll say it. 
Now I got a good look at you, I’ll bet on it.” 

The Shrimp’s eyes narrowed. He contemplated 
Sadie for several seconds. Then he inhaled as large 
a breath as a thirty- four-inch chest will accommo- 
date. 

“ I’m tired finin’ you,” he said shrilly. 

“ Oh, don’t quit now, Ferguson. You’re just 
goin’ good.” 

“ Get your hat! ” 

“ Say it plain,” advised Sadie. 

“You’re fired!” 


SADIE GETS A LETTER 


73 


A beatific smile adorned Sadie’s face. 

“ Honest? ” she said eagerly. 

“ Go ahead; you’re fired! ” repeated the Shrimp 
importantly. 

Sadie clasped her hands and laughed. 

“ Really and truly fired? ” she cried. “ Bounced? 
Discharged? Turned loose on a cruel world? ” 

The Shrimp looked disappointed, but he nodded. 
He never did understand Sadie. 

“ Girls,” she exclaimed, turning to the roomful, 
“my dream’s out! I’m fired! It’s a shame to 
make you jealous, but I can’t help it. Say, No. 21, 
you’re the prize dancer. Do some steps for me; I 
don’t know how. Just think! Fired! ” 

Sadie started toward the locker-room almost on 
a run. Her apron was already off, and she was pat- 
ting a great coil of bronze hair into place. Sud- 
denly she stopped long enough to call back : 

“ Shrimp, you’re almost a friend of mine ! ” 

The departure of Sadie from the packing depart- 
ment of the Challenge Shirt Company partook of 
the dignity of an event. If the room had been un- 
der military discipline its occupants could not have 
stood more rigidly at attention. Not a hand moved, 
not a whisper sounded as she walked like a queen to- 
ward the door that opened into the hall. Even the 
Shrimp, himself spellbound, forgot to fret because 
the wheels of progress were momentarily halted. 

Pausing at the threshold, Sadie turned and waved 
a last good-by. 

“ So-long, girls ! Cheer up ! Some day your 
luck’ll come.” 


74 


44 MISTER 44 ” 


Down the stairway that led past the office went, 
not No. 1 8 , but plain Sadie Hicks. 

“ I hope I did it dignified,” she murmured with a 
little laugh. “ Maybe I made that laugh business 
a little too strong; but I meant some of it, anyhow. 
It feels sort of good to be fired — and excitin’.” 

She halted at the office window and rapped on the 
glass with her time-clock key. 

“ I’m turnin’ this in, Mr. Halsey,” she said to the 
clerk who answered her call. 

“ Leaving? ” 

44 Uh-huh.” 

“ I’m sorry, Sadie. What’s the trouble? ” 

“ Oh, nothin’. Only I couldn’t wait for the board 
of directors to act on my resignation.” 

“ You’ve been with us quite a while, Sadie.” 

“That’s right; I’ve packed some shirts in my 
time.” 

“ If there’s been any trouble I’d be glad — ” 

“ Sure. You’re all right, Mr. Halsey. I know 
you’d do what you could. But you couldn’t get me 
back there for the general manager’s salary.” 

The clerk turned to a row of pigeon-holes along- 
side the window and tossed Sadie’s key into the box 
numbered eighteen. Then something caught his eye. 
He reached up and took out an envelope. 

“ This for you? ” he asked, pushing it across the 
counter. 

Sadie picked it up for examination. Then she 
blushed a deep red and glanced at the clerk. He 
was smiling. 

“ Yes, it’s for me,” said Sadie, with confusion in 


SADIE GETS A LETTER 


75 

her voice. “ But don’t you say anything to the girls, 
Mr. Halsey! Please!” 

“ All right; I won’t. Only, Sadie — ” 

The middle-aged clerk looked at her with a kindly 
eye. “ You’re not going to do anything foolish? ” 
Sadie thrust out her hand and gave him a steady 

grip. 

“ I know you mean that right, Mr. Halsey. 
Thanks! No, I’m not goin’ to do anything fool- 
ish. Nothin’ like that ever bothered me. Good- 

by-” 

“ Good-by, Sadie. But wait a second! I guess 
you’ve got a day’s pay coming to you.” 

“Give it to the Shrimp; buy him a bouquet 
with it,” called back Sadie, who was at the street 
door. 

Outside, she paused to read the address on the en- 
velope — 

No. 1 8 , 

Packing Department, 

Challenge Shirt Company, 

Buffalo, N. Y. 

She studied the postmark — Canadian ! 

“So that’s where it went!” she whispered. 
“ Canada!” 

Her finger was under the flap of the envelope, 
about to tear it open, when she hesitated. 

“ No; I’m excited now,” she said. “ I’ll wait till 
I get home. This ain’t a joke; it’s business.” 

Whereupon she thrust the envelope into the bosom 
of her waist and started off at a brisk walk. Sadie 


76 


“ MISTER 44 ” 


was different from many girls; she had her own 
methods of self-discipline. 

Seated on her bed in the seven-by-ten room, she 
deliberately opened the envelope and unfolded its 
contents. In the upper corner of the first sheet she 
read: 

Deepwater Station, 

Ontario, Canada. 

She paused and glanced up, her eyes half closed. 

“Deepwater Station!” she repeated. “Deep- 
water! That sounds good” She returned to her 
letter : 

Dear Miss 18: 

Why did you stick a pin in me ? So that I would not for- 
get? If so, your plan succeeded. I am still nursing my 
finger. 

“ O-h! ” whispered Sadie. “ I didn’t mean to do 
that!” 

It’s rather awkward, just to know a number; perhaps if 
you write again you’ll send me your name. But use no pins! 
I’ll begin by sending you mine — it’s Stoddard, with a John 
in front, and the address is above. 

I am not sure you meant this letter for me ; I have an idea 
that I intercepted the mail of some cow-punching gentleman. 
I’m not Mr. 44. I never carried a .44 in my life. A .38 
shoots enough lead, and I rarely carry one of those. 

“ He doesn’t understand,” sighed Sadie. 

I like my job better than any I can think of and I’m 
mighty sorry you’re not equally contented with yours. 


SADIE GETS A LETTER 


77 


Where did you ever get that big, healthy idea of yours, about 
outdoors ? Surely not in the city where you live, nor in the 
factory where you work ! 

“ Did work,” corrected Sadie. 

However you managed to lay hold of it, don’t lose it! 
It’s right. Some day you may have a good chance. Take 
it. Outdoors is the place that needs people. There are too 
few of us. The city cheats. 

“ That’s it! ” exclaimed Sadie. “ He knows. It 
does cheat ! ” 

I haven’t looked around up here yet to see if there are any 
jobs for girls who want to live outdoors. If there are none, 
there ought to be ! A girl with the big idea should have her 
chance. I’d be glad to hear more about that ambition of 
yours. Will you let me? 

Up here there is nothing but outdoors — big and genuine, 
and without the trimmings. You’d like to see a forest that 
never had a lumberman’s ax laid on it, mountains that 
haven’t been blasted, a lake you can drink from, and all 
about you air that you can fairly bite. At least, I get the 
idea from your letter that you’d like it. 

“Would I!” she said softly. 

Now, about that job. I promise not to forget. Some- 
thing may turn up ; in fact, I’ll try to turn it up. Meantime 
please regard me as at your service. Any time I can do any- 
thing for you, don’t fail to call on me. 

Sadie paused again and stared at the white wall 
opposite. 

“ I wonder if this is the time,” she mused. 


“ MISTER 44 ” 


78 

I don’t like that number of yours — 18. I shall think of 
you as Miss Outdoors until you send me a better name. 
Keep hoping; you’ll get there yet. 

Sincerely, 

John Stoddard. 

Sadie was awed. It was hard to believe that such 
a letter could be written — to her! Of course he 
was not a cowboy. 

“ He’s educated ! ” she whispered. 

How well he seemed to understand ! She did not 
realize how plain she had made her dream in the lit- 
tle note that was pinned to a pocket. Perhaps he 
was a “ swell.” She could easily believe it. But he 
was a man, too; she knew that. He had a good, 
plain name ; she liked it. And he was a forty- four, 
even if he did not know it! Sadie smiled faintly. 

She went back to the paragraph about the out- 
doors where he lived and read it again — hungrily. 
Would she ever see it, save within the walls of her 
imagination? He hinted that she might. He 
promised to try to get her a job. 

A job ! Sadie’s mind flew swiftly from the fu- 
ture to the present. A job was what she needed, 
first of all things. She could afford to lose no time 
about that; the bank-account was not big enough. 

“There ought to be jobs,” he said — jobs up 
there in Canada. Surely he must be a competent 
judge, for he lived there. What Sadie knew about 
Canada was contained in John Stoddard’s letter, and 
she thirsted for little more knowledge at this time. 
It had a real outdoors; that was enough. 


SADIE GETS A LETTER 


79 


She glanced at her letter again, and noticed an- 
other paragraph, written on the back of one of the 
sheets : 

P." S. — I have forgotten the pin-scratch, just as the man 
who fractured his skull falling down-stairs forgot that he 
stubbed his toe as a starter. You ought to see me now! 

“ I don’t know just what happened to you, Forty- 
Four, but I guess your skull ain’t fractured,” she 
commented. 

Sadie spent half an hour thinking. Then she went 
back to the letter again to make sure of something. 
Yes, he had said it: 

Any time I can do anything for you don’t fail to call on me. 

“ He means that,” said Sadie, with a nod. 
“ Forty-fours don’t lie. And he can do something 
for me. He can get me that outdoors job. I will 
call!” 

There was an hour before supper, and Sadie went 
out. When she returned she sat down to study a 
handful of time-tables. 

“ I’ll call just as soon as I can get there, Forty- 
Four,” she said resolutely. “ I’ll draw my money 
in the morning; the bank’s closed now. It won’t 
take me long to shop. I can’t afford furs, but I’ll 
do the best I can. Then I’ll get my ticket. There 
won’t be time to write. I’ll have to wire.” 


CHAPTER VI 


SADIE IS EN ROUTE 

T HE camp on the island resounded with the 
complaints of Larry Livingston. His sun- 
burn was still punishing him; his couch was 
uncomfortable; he didn’t like the feel of the heavy 
blankets; he revolted at tin plates and cups; he did 
not see why the bass should not bite every three 
minutes; he objected to the “ unearthly ” solitude of 
the nights; and he was convinced that the course of 
treatment prescribed for him would prove a final 
blow to his health. 

Through it all Stoddard remained good-natured. 
Most of Larry’s complaints, in fact, he ignored. 
He had expected wails of protest from his ward, and 
was therefore not enduring an unforeseen infliction. 

“ I’ll admit the fishing might be a bit better,” he 
said. “ But in a big lake like this you can’t al- 
ways tell where a particular fish is going to be at a 
given moment. We’ll do better by and by. John’s 
coming around to see us pretty soon, and if there’s 
any recent and reliable information about fish he’ll 
have it.” 

“ Who’s John? ” demanded Larry. 

“ He’s the Indian I told you about, who can tote 
his own weight in duffel and scarcely notice it.” 

80 


SADIE IS EN ROUTE 


“ Is he — er — safe ? ” 

Stoddard laughed until his eyes glistened with 
tears. 

“Safe! John’s as safe as a bank. Did you think 
he was coming for scalps? ” 

A few minutes later Stoddard, pointing to a mov- 
ing object on the surface of the lake, exclaimed: 

“ I’ll bet that’s John now! He seems to be in a 
hurry, too.” 

The Indian’s dingy little canoe reached the island 
a quarter of an hour after Stoddard sighted it. He 
nodded familiarly to the big man and acknowledged 
an introduction to Livingston with a perfunctory 
handshake. 

“ What time you get home? ” he asked Stoddard 
casually. 

Stepping behind Livingston, Stoddard made a 
frantic gesture. His ward of the woods was still 
ignorant of the night journey to the Lower Station. 
A look of understanding flashed into John’s eyes, 
and he did not pursue his inquiry. 

“ We were just talking about fishing, John,” said 
Stoddard. “ How about it? ” 

“ Plenty; but not here.” 

“ Where, then?” 

“ South Arm best now.” 

“ More paddling! ” groaned Larry. 

“ It’ll do you good, son. You’ve rested up now 
for a couple of days. We’ll find an island down that 
way that you may like better than this one.” 

“ Good islands,” confirmed the Indian. 

Then, as Livingston’s gaze wandered to the lake, 


82 


“ MISTER 44 ” 


the Indian bestowed a wink upon Stoddard and 
made a gesture toward his own breast. Inasmuch 
as it was the first time Stoddard had ever seen an 
Indian wink, particularly one so self-contained as 
the wiry little John, he was astonished beyond meas- 
ure. 

Neither could he interpret the gesture. He be- 
gan to wonder if John had turned jester at the ex- 
pense of Larry; yet, if so, the joke was beyond his 
comprehension. 

He knitted his brow and shook his head, where- 
upon the Indian gravely winked again and started to 
repeat the motion of his hand. He was interrupted 
as Livingston’s glance returned to the party. 

Stoddard’s puzzlement increased. It was plain 
that John was trying to convey something to him in 
a covert manner. He had an idea that it concerned 
Livingston, and, therefore, was not to be communi- 
cated in Larry’s presence. So, again stepping out of 
the range of Larry’s vision, he signaled John to 
move up toward the tent. 

The Indian obeyed with a pretense of examining 
the camp outfit. 

Stoddard strolled after him. So did Livingston. 

Then followed a series of maneuvers designed 
for the purpose of bringing Stoddard and his In- 
dian visitor together, while leaving Livingston out 
of sight and ear-shot. But the third man uncon- 
sciously balked them all by dogging their footsteps. 
Plainly he did not propose to be left alone or ig- 
nored. 

During this performance John succeeded in work- 


SADIE IS EN ROUTE 83 

ing Stoddard to a pitch of real excitement by his fur- 
tive pantomimes. 

Presently the Indian abandoned his gestures and 
his winks and seated himself indifferently near the 
fire, from which he picked up a half-burned twig and 
began making idle scratches on the earth at his feet. 
Once he looked up and caught Stoddard’s eye ; then 
returned to the scratching again. 

Stoddard watched the stick. It was describing a 
series of unintelligible hieroglyphics, which John oc- 
casionally erased with his moccasined feet and began 
anew. 

The meaning dawned upon Stoddard at last! 
John was writing! When the Indian glanced up a 
second time he nodded that he understood. There- 
upon John ceased scratching with the stick, but began 
tapping with the end of it carelessly upon a rock. 
The tapping was irregular and without cadence. 
To Stoddard it signified nothing for several mo- 
ments. 

Then he was struck by the persistence of it. 
There were taps close together, then intervals, then 
more taps in quick succession, with pauses and re- 
newals. Stoddard began to grasp an idea. 

“ By the way, John,” he remarked, “ have they 
run the new telegraph line through yet — the branch 
over to Porcupine Lake? ” 

The Indian nodded vigorously and winked again. 

So John had a telegram. Also it was a telegram 
that must, for some mysterious reason, be delivered 
in the utmost privacy. 

Stoddard’s thoughts at once flew to his home in 


8 4 


MISTER 44” 


New York. He did not expect a business call ; some- 
thing must have happened in the family. 

Perhaps it was something in Livingston’s family. 
Larry had a mother who was an invalid, and Stod- 
dard now had a vision of bad news to break. 

“ Say, John,” he observed, “ I’ve got a new rod 
here I want you to see. It’s up in the tent, lying on 
the blankets. See what you think of it.” 

The Indian arose and ambled up to the canvas 
shelter, disappearing within it for an instant and re- 
turning with the rod in his hands. 

“ I meant for you to bring them both,” said Stod- 
dard. “ Never mind; I’ll get the other.” 

He went quickly to the tent, entered and let the 
flap fall after him. Lying on the blanket was a pink 
envelope. 

Stoddard ripped it open swiftly. The date was 
Toronto, the time early morning. The message 
read : 

John Stoddard, 

Deepwater Station, Ontario. 

On my way. Will arrive six thirty-four to-night. 

Eighteen. 

Stoddard was stunned. 

Due at six thirty-four — that night! Had she 
suddenly gone mad, or had he? She was coming 
— here — to Deepwater — to see him ! She was 
on the north-bound train even now ! 

“ What’ll I do? ” he groaned. “ Good Lord! ” 

Hearing Livingston stirring outside the tent, Stod- 
dard shoved the telegram under his shirt. Larry 


SADIE IS EN ROUTE 


85 


must not know at all costs — not yet, at any rate. 
He must have time to figure the thing out. Hastily 
picking up the other fishing-rod, he stepped outside 
and made a pretense at showing John the difference 
between the new and the old implements. But his 
mind was far from rods. It was upon a shining line 
of single track, along which a train was remorse- 
lessly toiling its way toward Deepwater. 

Stoddard was trying to think quickly, but his 
mind was in utter confusion. There must be some 
way to stop her, yet he could not think of it. It 
was impossible — preposterous — for her to come 
out there to a wilderness. She would have to be 
sent back immediately, if she could not be headed 
off. Stoddard could not even go to meet her; there 
was Livingston to be looked after, and Stoddard 
would not and could not explain to him. 

John would have to do it! That was the solu- 
tion. He would send the Indian and let him make 
the best explanation he could. 

But Livingston killed that hope. 

“ John says he’ll take me where I can get some 
fish, Stod,” he said. “ Want to come? ” 

“ No.” 

“ All right; come on, John.” 

As Livingston started down toward the landing- 
place the Indian whispered softly to Stoddard: 

“ You mail letter quiet. I bring telegram quiet.” 

Stoddard made no sign that he appreciated this 
instinctive diplomacy upon the Indian’s part. He 
was absorbed in his problem. As the canoe bore 
the pair away from the island and headed in the di- 


86 “ MISTER 44” 

rection of the South Arm, he sat heavily upon a 
log. 

“You will answer letters, will you?” he de- 
manded savagely, addressing himself. 

He consulted the telegram again to see if there 
could be any possible mistake, but it was relentless 
in its clarity. She would be in Deepwater that very 
night. The train had moved miles since the blow 
had first fallen. It was coming nearer, even as he 
sat there. 

“ But why? ” he kept asking himself. “ Why? ” 

He had not told her to come; had not even sug- 
gested it. He remembered what he had written 
very distinctly. He did not say there was a job for 
her in the Deepwater country. He merely said 
there ought to be, and that he would look around. 
He had asked her to write, not to seize her hat and 
run for a train. 

Very seriously now Stoddard began to doubt the 
mental balance of No. 18. Was it possible that any 
girl entirely sane could launch madly into such a ven- 
ture and throw herself upon the hands of an abso- 
lute stranger? 

From this doubt he proceeded to skepticism of 
the very existence of No. 18. He began to sus- 
pect that some huge practical joke was being played 
upon him, and that the perpetrators back in the Buf- 
falo factory were carrying it out in elaborate detail. 
The notion chagrined and angered him. Stoddard 
had no relish for being the butt of a jest. 

He took the crumpled letter of No. 18 from his 
pocket and read it again. Then the joke idea began 


* 


SADIE IS EN ROUTE 87 

to fade from his mind. There was something in 
the atmosphere of it that gave it the stamp of genu- 
ineness; he could not fail to sense it. 

Stoddard’s dismay only increased as he reluctantly 
found himself forced to the belief that she was really 
on the way to Deepwater. There was no heading 
things off now. He had a problem to meet. 

He glanced at his watch; there was plenty of time 
yet — more than three hours. 

“ I’ll have to meet her, I suppose,” he said aloud. 
“ But what can I say to her? How can I explain? 
There’s no job here that I know of. And she thinks 
she’s going to get one ! ” 

He had faced a few unpleasant situations in his 
life, but never anything like this. It appalled him, 
for he did not know how to meet it. He knew of no 
rules nor ceremonies that applied to it. 

He must go to the station, meet her, and tell her 
— what? That he was only fooling? He shud- 
dered at that, yet wondered if it did not really 
amount to as much. Certainly she would think so 
when she learned the truth of things. 

Himself he blamed most. He realized that he 
should have known better than to paint a picture 
filled with rosy hopes for the eyes of an ignorant 
factory-girl. In the first place, he should not have 
written at all. Having written, however, he should 
have assured her in the most positive terms that there 
were no jobs for girls in this country, and that a fac- 
tory-life was clearly that for which she was best 
fitted. Then she would have put the idea out of her 
foolish head. 


88 


MISTER 44 ” 


But he had encouraged her — deliberately; had 
led her to believe that here was where the future 
opened before her; had dangled the lure temptingly 
before her eager eyes ! 

“A fine mess! ” he exclaimed. “ Pm in for it! 
I don’t mind paying her way back to Buffalo. And 
of course I’ll pay her for all the time she’s losing at 
the factory. 

“ It’s trying to explain that gets me. And — gee 
whiz! What’ll I do with her to-night? There’s 
no train back before morning! ” 

But wait! There was a chance. It was close, 
but not impossible. The late train, the south-bound 
mail, was of no use. It went no farther than North 
Bay and made all stops along the line. 

But there was a south-bound express that usually 
went on the siding at Deepwater to let the up-train 
pass. If he could grab her from the north-bound 
train, hustle her aboard the south-bound before it 
pulled out, and make explanations during the whirl- 
wind performance, he might be able to get her off 
his hands that very evening. 

“I’ll try it!” he said defiantly. “It’s a mean 
trick, but what else can I do ? She’ll think I’m crazy, 
and she’ll have a right to. I guess I am.” 

Larry and the Indian had passed from sight of 
the island when Stoddard launched his own canoe and 
began the ten-mile paddle to Deepwater Station. 

All the way up the long stretch of the Northeast 
Arm he struggled with the problem that faced him. 
At times it seemed that he had it fairly thrown and 
pinned to the mat, but it always managed to squirm 


SADIE IS EN ROUTE 


89 

loose again and the wrestling was resumed. It was 
elusive to grasp and slippery when he laid hold of it. 
Now and then he lost his temper during the fray. 

But always he came back to the idea that No. 18 
must be shipped back — and at once. If there was 
no time to make things clear to her he could write 
explanations later. He preferred to send them by 
mail, anyhow. 

Stoddard was conscious that he was planning to 
evade an issue, a thing for which he had contempt; 
but he tried to smother his conscience. He was ex- 
periencing a curious sense of guilt, and it made him 
timorous. 

He hoped, because of the task that lay ahead of 
him, that she would prove to be a docile person. 
If she was bewildered, so much the better; it would 
be easier to handle her. He had the affair rather 
carefully planned as he neared the landing at the 
station. 

He knew exactly where the south-bound train 
would lie on the siding, provided it was on time 
and would meet the north-bound at Deepwater. 
There would be no difficulty in picking out No. 18; 
greenhorns in the woods country were identifiable 
at a glance. He would seize her by the arm, rush 
her along the platform, whisk her around the rear 
end of the train she had left, propel her across the 
tracks to the panting south-bound express, lift her 
aboard if she would not climb — and then explain, 
if there was time. Also, he would give her some 
money. 

“ I hate to do it,” he said. “ It’s low-down. 


9 o “ MISTER 44 ” 

But there’s nothing else for it. The girl has simply 
got to go. 

“ I thought from her letter she had some sense. 
But from that telegram I’m sure she’s a lunatic.” 

Leaving his canoe on the float, Stoddard went off 
at a run for the railway station, a hundred yards dis- 
tant. There was a quarter of an hour before the 
north-bound train was due. 

“North-bound on time?” he demanded at the 
ticket-office. 

It was five minutes late. 

“How about the south-bound? Will it take the 
siding here? ” 

“ On time; meets 48 here.” 

Stoddard went out on the platform and mapped 
his campaign. Events seemed to be propitious. 
His conscience was accusing him, but although he 
could not still it he made up his mind sternly to ig- 
nore it. 

“ It’s just swapping one surprise for another,” he 
argued. “ She certainly astonished me. I imagine 
that I am going to amaze her. Funny, too, I don’t 
know her name. I suppose she thought I’d under- 
stand 4 Eighteen ’ better.” 

Billy Mason, the station-master, came into view; 
and Stoddard, busy with his plans, suddenly decided 
to perfect them. 

“ Billy!” he called. 

“Hello! What brought you back?” inquired 
Mason. 

“Telegram; it was very important,” said Stod- 
dard, talking rapidly. “ Now listen, Billy. If you 


SADIE IS EN ROUTE 


9i 


see me do anything that astonishes you when the 
north-bound train comes in, why, it’s all right. 
There’s a mistake been made and I’ve got to 
straighten it out in a hurry. 

“ A lady is coming up on the north-bound. She 
gets off here. She has to go right back on the south- 
bound and I’ve got to get her aboard in a jiffy. 

“ You see, she doesn’t know she’s got to go back 
and she’ll probably be surprised. I’ll have to ex- 
plain while I’m rushing her. She may holler a lit- 
tle when she hears the news, but you’ll know that it’s 
all right. She’ll understand, too, after I tell her all 
about it. 

“ But the main thing is to get her on that south- 
bound. I’m going into the ticket-office to buy a 
berth for her now, so she’ll be fixed all right when 
she gets aboard.” 

The idea of getting her a berth occurred to him 
as he rattled along. Of course it would only be de- 
cent of him to get it for her; he would attend to it in 
a minute. 

“ So if you see me grab a lady as soon as she steps 
off the train,” Stoddard went on, “ everything is 
O. K. and regular. You understand, Billy? ” 

“ I don’t understand,” said the station-master, 
grinning, “ but so long’s you’re doing it, Mr. Stod- 
dard, why, it’s all right, as far as I’m concerned. 
Only you want to be lively with her, because 48 is 
late and the south-bound’ll be pulling out on the 
jump.” 

“ Oh, I’ll hustle,” said Stoddard grimly. 

He went to the ticket-office and purchased a lower 


92 


MISTER 44 ” 


berth on the south-bound, clear though to Toronto. 
Then he counted his money and stripped five ten-dol- 
lar bills from a roll. 

“ That ought to give her a good margin/’ he mut- 
tered. 

On second thought he returned to the office and 
bought a railroad ticket, too. 

“ Might as well do it properly,” he told himself. 

Placing the money and the two tickets in an en- 
velope, he returned to the platform in time to see 
the south-bound train enter the siding. If the north- 
bound carried the usual number of cars conditions 
would be favorable. He consulted Billy Mason and 
received the assurance that No. 48 carried her regu- 
lar equipment. 

Presently a long-drawn wail reached his ears. 
The north-bound was whistling for the station and 
would show at the bend below in less than a minute. 
Stoddard hardened his heart and set his jaws. 


CHAPTER VII 


THROUGH THE RAPIDS 
SHRILL grinding of brakes brought the 



north-bound train to a halt at Deepwater 


Station. Stoddard, his pulse throbbing at 


high speed, stood where he commanded a view of 
the three day-coaches and the sleeper. The outflow 
of passengers began. 

At first there were only men, campers come for 
the glories of early September in the big woods. 
Then two women, evidently a mother and daughter, 
who were seized in the embraces of a woodsman on 
the platform. Neither of these was No. 1 8, Stod- 
dard knew. 

Then came three married couples, laden with 
grips and fishing-rods. They were eliminated. 
After that more men, struggling with packs and bun- 
dles. 

Stoddard’s eyes roved swiftly from one car to 
another. Perhaps something had happened and 
she had not come at all. He did not know whether 
to be glad or sorry. Over on the siding the south- 
bound express was getting ready to move. Stod- 
dard’s figure was alert and tense with excitement. 

Wearily dragging a big grip, there appeared from 
the last car the figure of a girl. Her burden 


93 


94 


MISTER 44 ” 


bumped behind her, step by step, as she descended. 
She let go of it with a sigh as it touched the station 
platform. Stoddard sighted her in an instant, but 
hesitated. 

The girl looked about her, bewildered. Her eyes 
were searching for somebody. That she was of the 
city was not debatable; the marks of it were only 
too clear. Although plainly she expected somebody, 
not a man on the platform stepped forward or paid 
the slightest heed to her. She was a stranger. 

Stoddard went forward at a run. There was not 
a second to be lost. 

With one hand he seized the grip, with the other 
he firmly clasped her arm. Whirling her about, he 
started her at a trot down the platform toward the 
rear end of the north-bound train. 

“ There’s been a big mistake ! ” he shouted as he 
urged her along. “ My fault, of course. I’ll ex- 
plain by letter. Sorry. But you’ll understand.” 

Up to this time she had remained speechless. 
Her feet were running, not because she willed them 
to do so, but because a giant was propelling her for- 
ward with irresistible force. 

“ But I — ” 

Stoddard cut off abruptly. He loathed himself 
for what he was doing, but there was no other way; 
at least, none so easy. Besides, this girl was never 
meant for the woods country. He saw that in a 
glance. 

“ I know. The blame’s mine. You see, there’s 
no chance right now. Mistake for you to have 
started. Awfully sorry, but you know — ” 


THROUGH THE RAPIDS 


95 


They had reached the end of the train and the 
girl, a frightened look in her eyes, tried to escape 
from his grasp. The south-bound express tooted 
twice sharply. 

“ Just time to make it by an eye-lash ! ” exclaimed 
Stoddard as he whirled her across the tracks and be- 
gan racing toward the first passenger-coach of the 
train on the siding. “ Can’t you run faster? ” 

“I — I don’t understand!” she gasped. 
“ What’s the matter? Let me go ! ” 

“ I’ll write ! No time to talk. There goes the 
train now ! ” 

The south-bound had released brakes and was 
moving. 

“ It’s — it’s a mistake ! ” 

“You bet!” he shouted. “I’ll write. Look 
sharp now! ” 

The south-bound was accelerating speed as it 
slipped out from the siding. 

As the first platform of the day-coach neared them 
Stoddard threw his arm around the girl’s waist and 
lifted her clear of the ground. 

“ Grab the rail ! ” he yelled. 

Simultaneously he swung her up on the steps. 
She tripped, turned as she fell, and sat down with a 
bump on the platform. With another swift motion 
Stoddard flung the grip beside her. The girl was 
staring at him with terrified eyes. 

“ It’s all right ! ” he called as he ran beside the 
train. “Here!” 

Reaching up to her he tossed an envelope into her 
lap. 


9 6 


41 MISTER 44 ” 

“Your ticket, berth, and expenses are in that! 
Good luck! I’ll write.” 

As the train slid past him and carried her from 
sight Stoddard could hear her voice crying some- 
thing, but he did not catch the words. 

“ She won’t dare jump off,” he muttered. 
“ Train’s going too fast now.” 

In this conclusion his judgment was excellent. 
She did not jump. He stood in the middle of the 
track until the south-bound disappeared; no girl 
emerged. Turning back to the station platform, he 
wiped his forehead and shrugged his shoulders. 

“ Tough, but the only thing to do,” he commented. 
“ I’ll square it somehow. That girl would never do 
up here. Poor kid ! I’m sorry for her, but it was 
the kindest thing to do. By getting back quick she 
probably won’t lose her job.” 

Billy Mason, the station-master, came hurrying 
along the platform beside the north-bound. 

“ Conductor of No. 48’s looking for you, Stod- 
dard,” he said. “ Get your party all right? ” 

“Everything O. K. Where’s the conductor?” 

“ Up forward. Better hurry; they’ve got all the 
baggage out.” 

Stoddard hastened his pace and presently tapped 
a uniformed official on the shoulder. 

“ Looking for me? I’m Stoddard.” 

“ Oh ! ” said the conductor. “ Yes, I was looking 
for you. I had a lady aboard the train, asking for 
you.” 

“Yes, yes;- I know. I expected her. It’s all 
right.” 


THROUGH THE RAPIDS 


97 


“ But wait. She was ticketed to Deepwater and 
she wanted to know where to find you. You know 
Johnny Monday, the Indian? Well, I had him on 
my train the other night and he mentioned that you 
were using the Lower Station, being camped some- 
where near there.” 

“ I mailed a letter there. What about it? ” 

“ Why,” explained the conductor, “ she and I 
figured out that would be where you’d meet her, 
so — ” 

“What?” exclaimed Stoddard hoarsely, as the 
conductor paused to hold up two fingers at the en- 
gineer. 

“ She got off at Lower Station. She’s there 
now.” 

Stoddard said nothing. He merely stood and 
stared. He was still staring when the conductor 
swung himself aboard the moving north-bound. 

More than a minute elapsed before Stoddard 
stirred. Then he turned slowly and walked down 
the platform. Presently he paused and began talk- 
ing to himself. 

“ She’s at the Lower Station! She’s there now! 
Then who — Oh, Lord ! ” 

He walked on again mechanically. He passed 
Billy Mason and several loungers on the platform, 
but did not appear to see them. 

“ What have I done now? ” he moaned. “ Who 
was that girl? What ’ll she think? Why, it’s im- 
possible! It just can’t be! I’m dreaming! ” 

On the way to the canoe-landing two breathless 
men passed him. 


9 8 


“ MISTER 44 ” 


“ We’ll have to explain what delayed us,” said 
one as they hurried by. u But she won’t mind. 
We’ve only kept her waiting a few minutes.” 

“ She’ll be worried just the same,” answered the 
other. “ It’s her first trip up and I’ll bet she was 
scared when she didn’t see a soul that she knew at 
the station.” 

“ Oh, well ! So long as she’s there — ” 

Stoddard lost the rest of it. He was not anxious 
to overhear more. He began running toward his 
canoe. He must escape ! He bumped into people 
who crowded the landing, elbowing his way through 
the press. Some of them turned to protest, saw a 
big, stern-looking man in a hurry, and said nothing. 

Throwing his canoe into the water with a single 
jerk, Stoddard flung himself into it and seized a 
paddle. Already it seemed as if they must be start- 
ing in pursuit, those two men who were late to meet 
the train. He wondered if Billy Mason would tell. 

Not until he was nearly half a mile from the land- 
ing did he remember No. 18. Then he stopped 
paddling abruptly. 

“ Great Scott ! I forgot ! ” he exclaimed. 

No. 1 8 was at the Lower Station waiting. It was 
already dusk. She was miles from anybody, all by 
herself in the big woods that she wanted so much 
to see. 

“ She’ll probably be dead from fright when I get 
there, but I’ve got to go. Let’s see now.” 

Stoddard thought rapidly. To paddle clear 
around to the Lower Station was more than twenty 
miles, unless he took the portage across the neck of 


THROUGH THE RAPIDS 


99 


the peninsula, and he had no mind to try that again 
after dark. At any rate, it was over ten miles to 
the portage. The Lower Station was six miles by 
rail from the upper one. He could walk it in an 
hour and a half, even on the ties, but then he would 
have no means of getting No. 18 anywhere after his 
arrival. 

There was one other way. He could go directly 
ashore from where he was, strike the railway, carry- 
ing his canoe with him, and follow the track for a 
mile and a half, after which he could put in at Spruce 
River. This was a stream that touched the railway 
at that point and followed it rather irregularly for 
several miles — a sufficient distance to carry him to 
the Lower Station. The journey was a matter of 
two hours, probably, but it would find him with a 
canoe at the end of it. 

Without delay Stoddard adopted this route. It 
was a brief run to the southern shore of the North- 
east Arm and but a short climb to the railway line. 

Once there, he settled the canoe comfortably on 
his shoulders and started off at a dog-trot. So long 
as he could see his footing he was resolved to make 
good time. 

Carrying a canoe was a sort of second nature to 
Stoddard. Where the going was clear his burden 
was never on his mind. Seventy pounds was not a 
sufficient weight to obtrude itself upon his thoughts, 
for Stoddard was not only powerful, but seasoned. 
He had the strength to do things, and he practically 
doubled that by knowing how. 

So, as his hobnails clattered along the wooden ties 


100 


MISTER 44” 


and the broken rock that ballasted the road-bed, he 
had uninterrupted leisure to consider the case of No. 
1 8 — and his own. He would have liked to con- 
sider the case of the girl on the south-bound train, if 
there were any way of doing so in a coherent man- 
ner. Although it hovered constantly in the back- 
ground of his mind, he abandoned all efforts to re- 
duce it to sanity. His reason seemed to totter 
whenever he laid hold of it. 

Besides, the girl on the south-bound was no longer 
in the picture. She had been ruthlessly erased at a 
single stroke. It was the girl at the Lower Station 
who needed attention now. 

It would be pitch dark for more than an hour 
before he reached her. He wondered what form 
of treatment was applied in cases of hysterics. He 
was pretty good on cuts, bruises, and primitive sur- 
gery, but he had had no experience with ailments of 
the feminine nervous system. 

He hoped she would have’ sense enough not to 
move from the lonely little platform. A few yards 
in any direction would be sufficient to lose her in 
the woods. And what would she think of him? 
That disturbed Stoddard more than anything else. 

No; there was one other matter even more 
troublesome. What would he do with her? No 
friendly south-bound train would come to his rescue 
now! No. 1 8 was at Deepwater for the night, if 
nothing more. 

She would have to sleep somewhere, if hysterics 
permitted. There was a hotel at the station, but 
that would be a six-mile walk back. And perhaps 


THROUGH THE RAPIDS 


IOI 


she had a trunk ! There was also the hotel on Deep- 
water Island. 

Stoddard settled upon that. It was not a long 
trip ; he could put her up there and decide what next 
to do in the morning. To take her to camp was out 
of the question. Larry Livingston, his camp-mate, 
must never hear of this affair. 

It was dark when he reached the spot where 
Spruce River curved in toward the railway, and now 
he left the tracks and scrambled down a steep em- 
bankment, balancing the canoe carefully as he felt 
for solid footing. It was a short but rough journey 
to reach the stream, and when Stoddard at last stood 
upon its banks he was panting and perspiring. The 
night was warm, the air sluggish and heavy. Yet 
it was so clear overhead that the gently flowing 
waters of Spruce River mirrored the stars. 

The stream swept away from the railway line 
again, running through a densely timbered little 
valley. As a river, it was entitled to no more than 
a hair-line on the map, yet a very kinky line. It 
doubled upon itself, wandered aimlessly hither and 
thither, and was in no haste, save for occasional 
bursts of speed in rapids, to reach any destination 
whatever. 

Stoddard knew it pretty well. There were 
marshes along its banks, where the moose came in 
the dawn-hours and at dusk. More than once he 
had drifted through noiselessly, just to surprise some 
thirsty bull or a cow with her calf. 

But now the river was in complete gloom, and in 
spots where the trees met overhead he could not 


102 


“ MISTER 44 ” 


even glimpse the sky. He did not, however, trust 
wholly to the current, but plied his paddle constantly, 
for every minute that slipped by signified to his vivid 
imagination just so much more hysterics at the Lower 
Station. 

The countless bends served to keep him alert to 
his task, so that his craft would not jam her nose 
into the bank in an endeavor to take short cuts. 
Fallen trees and sunken ones had to be watched for. 
Twice he found it necessary to climb out on logs and 
haul the canoe across. Spruce River was tortuous 
and tantalizing by day; after nightfall it was trans- 
formed into a bewildering maze. 

Stoddard took only one dangerous chance. 
There were some two hundred yards of swift water, 
ending almost opposite the Lower Station. To haul 
out and carry meant toil. Nobody had ever 
bothered to cut a portage, for the rapids could be 
run easily enough by day, while at night Spruce River 
rarely figured in the travels of the North woods 
people. 

It was several seasons since he had viewed this 
stretch of white water, yet he trusted to his memory 
of the rocks and shoal places. The river-stage was 
low, but even then the passage could be made, with 
skill and some good luck. It was worth trying, at 
any rate. 

As the black water beneath him began to flow 
more swiftly, eager for the scuffle that would turn 
it into snowy foam, Stoddard caught the steady, 
droning sound of the combat that was being waged 
ahead. Bracing his knees securely, he drew the 


THROUGH THE RAPIDS 


103 


extra paddle within quick reach of his hand, where 
it could be snatched into instant action in case of 
mishap to the one he wielded, and then increased the 
cadence of his own strokes. 

The rapid began just below a sharp turn, where 
the water banked itself for the final plunge. The 
canoe swept around the curve at racing speed — 
Stoddard was at grips with his task! 

One thing favored, at any rate. He could see 
something. The white water that boiled about him 
sprang into sharp relief against the dark banks that 
confined it. Rocks that cleft the surface he could 
pick out with ease. Those that lay hidden a hand’s 
breadth below must be guessed at. They were part 
of the game. 

The men of the outdoors learn rapids by running 
them. The channel through every stretch of white 
water is mapped, not by survey and sounding, but by 
adventure and combat. The way to find where it 
lies is to get into it. 

The first trip is the real adventure; those that 
follow are mere toil, guided by experience. In the 
woods-people this business of riding foam-crests 
breeds instinct; almost mechanically they seek and 
find the path of least resistance. 

So it was with Stoddard. He was running his 
course now, partly from memory, partly by intuition. 
Even the varying notes that were struck by the leap- 
ing water had a meaning that he could interpret. 
The feel of the stream against his swiftly flying 
paddle carried a significance, too. 

Spray dashed into his face, but he shook his head 


104 


MISTER 44 ” 


and laughed. The spirit of conquest was in his 
blood. Skill still rode with him in the plunging 
canoe, but caution had taken wings. It was not a 
moment for prudence and deliberation, but one for 
swift and dashing attack. 

A roaring “ S ’’-turn, where the water was rent 
with black bowlders, snatched at the canoe and 
hurled it forward, yawing and swaying, diving and 
rearing, now careening, now righting itself, but al- 
ways racing at dizzy speed. Centaurlike, Stoddard 
rode his steed as if it were a part of him. From 
side to side his paddle shifted, his body swinging as 
a counterbalance to the thrust of the water. 

The turn was passed and the canoe shot out upon 
a long, straight slide that seemed in the faint light 
like a hillside covered with whirling snow. There 
were rocks here, too, as he well remembered; 
but even the low water did not uncover their 
heads. 

Three times the canoe scraped, once hanging 
poised for an instant, while the water piled up astern 
and threatened to swamp it. Stoddard flung him- 
self forward, and the shift of his weight set the craft 
free again, to fly onward along the slope. 

One more twist and the white water would cool its 
frenzy in the broad, deep pools below. Stoddard 
shouted aloud in triumph as, with a final and 
herculean dip of the paddle, his light craft slid at 
torpedo speed out into the quiet water. 

“ That was worth while! ” he cried. 

u Grand! ” exclaimed a voice from the darkness. 

He doubted his ears, for there was something 


THROUGH THE RAPIDS 


I0 5 

weird in the sound that assailed them with such 
amazing abruptness. 

“ Hello, there ! ” he shouted, staring ahead of 
him and rising to his knees. 

“ Hello,” answered the voice. 

He was close to the shore at the farther edge of 
the basin into which the rapid poured its froth, but 
beyond a black mass of trees he could see nothing. 

“ What the devil! ” he burst out. “ Who is it? ” 

“ Me.” 

“ Me?” 

“ Sadie.” 

“Sadie?” 

“ No. 18.” 

“ Well, I’ll — ” 

“I guess you’re Mr. Stoddard, ain’t you?” con- 
tinued the voice. 

“ Of course ; certainly. But I — I — ” 

“ Wasn’t expectin’ me down here. I wasn’t ex- 
pectin’ you, neither. That is, not down here.” 

“ I should say not,” he answered, as he drove the 
canoe ashore. “Where are you?” 

“ Right here.” And the stirring of a figure 
against the somber woods located the source of the 
voice. 

“ You might have got lost,” he said severely. 

“No; I was careful. I could hear the water 
runnin’ somewhere from up there on the platform. 
After a while I follered the sound, ’cause there 
wasn’t anything to do back up there by the track 
except sit and look at the stars. 

“ So I found this place, and I’ve been sittin’ here 


io 6 


41 MISTER 44 


ever since, watchin’ that water come down. There’s 
an awful pile of it/ ain’t there? 

u Then I saw you cornin’ around that corner up 
there. My, but it was grand! I guessed it was 
you, too.” 

Stoddard had stepped close to the dark figure, but 
the dim light helped him little in his scrutiny. He 
reached down and picked up his canoe. 

“ Lead the way up to the station platform,” he 
commanded. “ I want to get a look at you.” 

“ Sure,” said Sadie. u And when you get about 
half-way up, look out. There’s a tree that’s fell 
down, and I’d like to have broke my neck tumblin’ 
over it.” 


CHAPTER VIII 


SADIE ARRIVES 

T HE light at the lower station was dim, yet, 
after the gloom of the woods just below, it 
seemed to blaze forth like the night glare 
of Broadway. Stoddard, following at the heels of 
Sadie, was making haste to reach it. He was sud- 
denly impatient to inspect the girl, who plowed her 
way quite steadily through a tangle of brush. 

His mind already had made some quick revisions. 
Although he had but unsatisfactory glimpses of the 
figure that occasionally moved between him and the 
light that was their goal, he knew that she was no 
flat-chested slip of a creature, wan with the grind of 
factory toil. That picture had vanished even when 
she spoke. 

So did the problem of hysterics that he had steeled 
himself to meet. He was relieved, yet disconcerted, 
by this abrupt shattering of expectations. 

When he finally dropped his burden on the little 
platform, Stoddard turned to find her standing near 
the light. He drew a sharp breath and his eyes 
widened. He saw — well, he saw Sadie. 

The revelation held him speechless. He stood 
and stared, his hands on his hips, his head bent for- 
ward, his forehead furrowed with a frown of in- 
credulity. 


107 


io8 


MISTER 44” 


Stoddard’s scrutiny of Sadie was no franker than 
her own of him, but infinitely more surprised. In 
fact, Sadie did not appear to be in the least as- 
tonished. Her glance roved slowly from his eyes 
down to his hunting-boots, then back again; and she 
nodded unconsciously while she conducted the sur- 
vey, as if her imagination had been confirmed in 
minute detail. It was evident that she was satisfied 
with something. At last her survey came to a rest 
on the olive-drab shirt. 

“ You sure are a forty-four,” she commented. 

“ Say, explain that,” said Stoddard. “ What’s 
this forty-four business? ” 

“Why, chest.” 

“But what — Oh, I understand. You mean 
it’s a forty-four shirt. I never thought of that.” 

“ You thought it meant six-shooters,” she laughed. 

“ And I never thought of that ” 

“ I got the idea from your mentioning cowboys,” 
explained Stoddard. 

Sadie laughed again, this time with a hint of 
embarrassment. 

“ Tell me something straight,” she said. “ Did , 
that stuff I wrote read silly? I didn’t mean it to.” 

“ Not a bit ! It was absolutely all right. I got 
the idea right away.” 

“ That’s good,” she said with a nod. “ I was 
pretty sure you did.” 

He was studying her face with ever-growing as- 
tonishment, and now, with quick glances, he ap- 
praised the stalwart figure that faced him. 


SADIE ARRIVES 


109 

“ You look as though you were entitled to some- 
thing more than a number,’’ said Stoddard. 

“ I’d have put my name on the telegram, but I 
knew you’d understand the number better. I’m 
Sadie Hicks. I come from Ohio.” 

“ I guess the name would have puzzled me, Miss 
Hicks.” 

“ Make it Sadie,” she said simply. “ I’m used to 
that — and the number. I’ll be forgettin’ to an- 
swer if you say Hicks.” 

“ Then we’ll make it Sadie.” 

Somehow the conversation did not betake itself 
to essentials, although there was such a great deal 
to explain. 

“ Sorry I was late,” he remarked, as he fumbled 
for his pipe and tobacco-pouch. 

“ Oh, that’s all right. I ain’t been hurt none.” 

Stoddard winced, but she did not appear to notice 
it. 

“ Did I do wrong to get off at this station? ” she 
asked. 

“ Well, it’s not the regular one. I’d have 
thought you hadn’t come at all if it wasn’t for the 
fact that the conductor told me where you were.” 

“ He said I’d better get off here,” she explained, 
“ and I took his word for it. He said some Injian 
told him you was usin’ this station. But I suppose 
Injians lie an awful lot; I heard they did.” 

“ The Indian told the truth as far as he knew 
it,” said Stoddard, smiling. “ It took me nearly 
two hours to get here. Were you scared? ” 


no “MISTER 44” 

As the question left his lips he knew it was idle. 

“ No; I wasn’t scared. I felt kinda strange, but 
I don’t think I was scared. It was a little creepy 
for a while, after it got dark and terrible quiet. 
But I suppose I’ll get used not to hearin’ trolleys. 

“ I never seen so many stars,” she added with an 
upward glance. “I sat and watched ’em for a good 
while. Down in Buffalo we don’t see near so 
many. I suppose these are just the same stars up 
here; that is, the main ones, but they look different 
somehow — bigger and shinier. Then there’s 
whole bunches that I never noticed in the city at all. 

“ While I was lookin’ at stars I heard water run- 
nin’, and I wanted to see if it was anything like 
Niagara. I’ve been there twice. Of course, it 
ain’t; I might have known. But it’s good to look 
at just the same.” 

“ You don’t want to start wandering at night up 
here,” chided Stoddard; “ not until you know some- 
thing about the country. People who do that get 
lost.” 

“ All right; I won’t,” she promised. “ I thought 
about gettin’ lost, but I knew I couldn’t get lost very 
far at night, and I can holler good and loud, so you 
could have follered the sound when you came along. 
But I just had to see that water.” 

“ You’ll see water enough when you’ve been up 
here a while,” he remarked. 

Just why this perfunctory observation slipped 
from him Stoddard did not know, for his mind in- 
stantly flashed back to plain facts. It was not likely 
she would see much water, or woods, either, for that 


SADIE ARRIVES 


hi 


matter. She would have to go back to Buffalo, and 
promptly; he had no job for her. 

It was a pity, too ; as he looked at her, still with 
increasing wonder, he knew that it was a crime to 
sentence such a being to the four walls of a factory. 
It was like taking some one of the woods creatures 
and putting it in a zoo. 

There was a pause in the conversation. It was 
Sadie who broke it. 

“ You’ll think it’s kinda silly,” she said with a 
laugh, “ but I was wonderin’ all the way up on the 
train what became of all the snow.” 

“ The snow! ” 

“ Uh-huh. Go on and laugh; I don’t mind.” 

“ Why, summer’s not over yet, even if it is Sep- 
tember! ” 

“ I get that now,” confessed Sadie good-naturedly. 
“ After I saw how things really were I felt as foolish 
as a spring hat. You see, Canada’s a new one on 
me. I had an idea there was lots of snow up here, 
and ice, ’most all the time; so I come prepared. I 
woke up, after ridin’ on the train a while, when I 
found things kept stayin’ green no matter how far 
we got. Why, it ain’t hardly any colder here than 
it is down home — I mean Buffalo.” 

“ It’s not cold enough to-night,” said Stoddard, 
glancing at the sky. The unusual warmth of the air 
was a presage of “ weather,” he thought. 

“ It certainly ain’t cold enough for some of the 
stuff I brought,” she observed philosophically, as she 
nodded toward a dark object a few feet distant. 

Stoddard stepped forward and made a casual ex- 


I 12 


MISTER 44 ” 


amination of Sadie’s baggage. A shiny new suit- 
case — the first she had ever owned — stood on the 
platform. Thrown across it were an ulster, a 
sweater, and a pair of rubber:, tied together with a 
string. From a pocket in the ulster protruded 
woolen mittens. He smiled. 

“ The sweater’s all right,” he said hastily, as he 
caught Sadie’s eye. 

“ Go on and get that laugh out of your system, 
Mr. Stoddard,” she urged. “ I’ve had mine. You 
don’t have to hold it in on my account. I’m not 
touchy when I’m really the goat. I’m glad the 
sweater’s some good, anyhow. As for the rest of 
the outfit, I spent real money for it, and I might as 
well have took it to Florida.” 

Stoddard did laugh. Also, he winced again. 
He did not expect from Sadie that precision of 
speech that constantly guarded the conversation of 
his Fifth Avenue friends, Kitty Fitch and Estelle 
Wallace, yet he was not accustomed to the shock of 
factory English, at least from the lips of a goddess. 

“ And that’s what she is,” he muttered under his 
breath. “Man alive, look at her! And from a 
city factory! Something’s wrong somewhere.” 

Sadie was examining the canoe with curiosity. 
Finally she laid hold of the gunwale with her hands. 

“ Why, I can lift it ! ” she exclaimed in pleased 
wonder as she suited the action to her words. 

“ You look as if you could lift two,” said Stod- 
dard, watching her. 

“ I am big,” she admitted. “ I’m strong, too. 
Just natural with me, somehow. I didn’t get it 


SADIE ARRIVES 


ii3 

packin’ shirts. I always felt like I was too big for 
that place back there. 

“ Whenever I got near some of them little girls 
like No. 12 I had to move careful for fear I’d hap- 
pen to hit ’em by accident and break ’em. But I 
ought to manage all right up here.” 

She drew a deep breath of the night air, her 
bosom swelling magnificently under the plain blue 
suit she wore. 

“ What you said about that air — that you could 
bite it — is right,” she added. “I feel as if I’d 
started to grow again. And yet when I take a look 
at things round here I don’t feel as big as I did back 
in the city. I guess it’s because there’s plenty of 
room. You can use some room yourself, can’t 
you ? ” 

“ A little,” he admitted. 

“ I guess I’ll fit in all right,” she mused in a satis- 
fied tone. 

Stoddard started to say something, then bit his 
lip and checked the words. How could he tell her? 
What in the world she would do in a semi-wilderness 
he did not know. He had no job for her. Yet he 
shrank from brutally destroying her dream, which to 
Sadie had now become a reality. 

She had found her outdoors. Already she loved 
it. It was her place, sprung from a vision at last 
and become a tangible, living thing. Here she 
would live; here she would work; here she had come 
to stay. To get a job, of course, would be easy; 
the big man would look out for that. He had said 
there ought to be plenty of them. She was eager 


1 1 4 “MISTER 44 ” 

to get to work; she was young and strong, and she 
knew she would be happy in her outdoors. 

“ Something told me I was makin’ the right 
move,” she thought, her lips framing the words. 
“ You can bank on a forty-four.” 

Stoddard was reading accurately what was in her 
mind, and it was this that halted his speech. He 
had no heart for telling her the truth; he could not 
bring himself to the point of slaying her simple and 
wholesome faith. What could he do ? 

Sadie’s mind was running, still running placidly in 
the same channel of contentment, strong in the as- 
surance that she was truly born for this new life. 

“ I can do ’most any kind of work after a little 
practice, I guess,” she said. “ I’ve got the strength, 
you see. There’s a whole lot of the girls back down 
in Buffalo who couldn’t stand it. The main thing 
is to find out what ybu can stand, I suppose, and then 
go to it.” 

“ That’s good philosophy,” he commented. 

“Is it? I don’t know much about philosophy, 
but that’s the way it always seemed to me. And 
when you don’t fit in, why, the best game is to back 
out quick. Speakin’ of that, I never saw a woman 
back out so quick as I did to-day. I’ve been puzzlin’ 
over it ever since. I didn’t know she had sense 
enough.” 

Stoddard waited for her to go on. 

“ I met her cornin’ up on the train,” explained 
Sadie. “She was alone and I was alone, and we 
got to talkin’. She was different from me; she was 
an educated lady. She was goin’ to Deepwater, too 


SADIE ARRIVES 


US, 


— up to the other station. Her brother and hus- 
band are campin’ there, she told me. And all the 
while she was talkin’ about goin’ to live in that camp 
I kept wonderin’ how she was goin’ to stand it. 

“ She was a slight little thing and seemed kinda 
timid about it. Said she hadn’t ever been up here 
before, but her husband told her it would do her 
a lot of good. Of course, I hadn’t been up here 
either, but I felt like a regular old-timer alongside 
of her. She said if she didn’t like it she wouldn’t 
stay here long — and she didn’t ! ” 

Sadie stopped to laugh. 

“ Go on ! ” commanded Stoddard in a queer voice. 

“ Well, I got off here, of course,” she continued, 
still chuckling, “ and we said good-by, and she went 
on up to the regular station. After I’d been here a 
little while I heard another train cornin’. Pretty 
soon it went by, goin’ in the other direction. And 
what do you guess? ” 

“ I’m not guessing. Go on,” he said grimly. 

“ Well, Mr. Stoddard, there was that lady sittin’ 
on the platform of one of the cars. She was sittin’ 
there like she was dreamin’. She was holdin’ on to 
her grip with one arm and she was starin’ at a piece 
of paper in her hand. 

“I was so surprised I just let a yell out. She 
looked up at me, all startled like, and opened her 
mouth. I don’t know whether she said anything; I 
couldn’t hear it. It was all in a second, anyhow. 
Then she was gone.” 

Sadie paused and shook her head slowly. 

“ It certainly beat me,” she added. “ I oughtn’t 


ii 6 “MISTER 44” 

to laugh, maybe, but I can’t help it. That was the 
quickest mind-changin’ act I ever knew. 

“ But I guess she had the right dope, after all. 
She wasn’t cut out for this place and must ’ve found 
it out in a hurry. Don’t you guess that was it?” 

Stoddard swallowed a few times and bit viciously 
on the stem of his pipe. 

“ It’s evident she made a change in her plans,” 
he said shortly. “ Sometimes they do.” 

“ And I never thought she had that much sense, 
either,” commented Sadie. “ It’s all right to change 
your mind if you have to; but hers wasn’t ever made 
up. I’d feel awful foolish if anything like that ever 
happened to me.” 

Stoddard merely nodded. He knew that such a 
thing would never happen to Sadie. He doubted 
if it would even have been attempted had the real 
No. 18 alighted from the train at Deepwater 
Station. The woman on the south-bound was easy 
to handle ; she was little and pathetically bewildered. 
But this one ! 

“What do you work at, Mr. Stoddard?” asked 
Sadie suddenly. 

“ I’m an engineer.” 

“ You don’t look it,” she said in a surprised tone. 
“ Locomotive or stationary? ” 

“ Neither,” he answered, with a faint smile. “ A 
civil engineer.” 

“ Meanin’ — ” 

“ Building bridges, laying railroads, and that sort 
of work.” 


SADIE ARRIVES 


117 

“ Oh, I see,” said Sadie slowly. “ That’s 
diff’rent. That’s an outdoors job.” 

“ Yes, mostly.” 

“ I couldn’t figure you runnin’ an engine, some- 
how. You go wherever they happen to be buildin’ 
a railroad? ” 

“ That’s about it.” 

“ You mean anywhere? All over? ” asked Sadie, 
her eyes widening. 

“ Anywhere the job may be.” 

“In foreign countries?” she persisted, her voice 
incredulous. 

“ Sometimes.” 

A long sigh escaped from Sadie’s lips. 

“ Gee, but that must be elegant,” she whispered 
in a tone of awe — “ just to go everywhere — out- 
doors ! ” 

“ You’re rather strong for outdoors,” he said, 
watching the play of her vivid imagination on her 
face. “ How did you come to get the idea? ” 

“ I don’t know,” said Sadie, shaking her head. 
“ It sort of grew in me. Of course, I was farm- 
raised; but that didn’t count — not like this.” 

Her arm swept in a broad gesture toward the 
woods across the track, beyond which the white 
water of Spruce River was voicing its eternal song. 

“ I just knew I’d have to get outdoors some time. 
I guess I can’t explain it. I can’t get at the words, 
somehow. But I felt it. And when you feel things 
you know ’em better than any other way. I do, any- 
how.” 


118- 


MISTER 44 ” 


Sadie paused and gravely inspected the man who 
stood in front of her. 

“ I don’t have to explain it to you,” she added in 
a contented voice. “ You understand it even bet- 
ter’n I do. You feel it, too. I could tell when you 
wrote, and it wasn’t so much what you said, neither. 
It was just there, in the letter, and it didn’t need no 
words.” 

Stoddard looked at her with a sense of many con- 
fusing impressions. In some things she seemed 
but a child; yet when he tried to study the child 
he found in its place a woman. More bewildering 
still — a woman of a kind utterly new — at least to 
him. 

Her speech irritated him; Kitty and Estelle did 
not talk like this. Yet he found himself listening 
with a curious eagerness, for through all the unfa- 
miliar mixture of slang and stumbling etymology 
ran a note that was strong and deep and true. The 
thought was there, even if the words served it 
poorly. 

Always, to Stoddard, speech of this kind had 
spelled ignorance. Was this woman ignorant? 
Strangely, he found himself drifting to the conclusion 
that she was very wise. 

Was she simple? He had a persistent notion 
that there were some strange complexities in her 
nature. 

Was she shallow? He answered that readily — 
no. Already he had glimpsed depths that as- 
tonished him. 

She interrupted his reflections abruptly. 


SADIE ARRIVES 


119 

“When do I get to work? To-morrow?” she 
asked. 

“Why, I’d — ” 

Stoddard halted lamely. This was the topic he 
had been dreading. 

“ Maybe you haven’t had time to locate a job for 
me,” said Sadie readily. “ I did come kinda sud- 
den. But that’s all right. I can hold out a few 
days.” 

“ You’re sure you want to give up factory- 
work? ” he ventured. 

“ Why, I’ve given it up ! ” she exclaimed. “ I 
was fired; the Shrimp done it — God bless him! I 
wouldn’t have said that a couple of days back, but 
after lookin’ at things up here I can say it without 
lyin’. I’m through with fact’ries, thank Heaven! 
It was bein’ fired that started me off so sudden. 
Otherwise I’d have wrote.” 

“ I see,” he answered cautiously. “ Well, the 
truth is, I haven’t got that job located yet. I wasn’t 
expecting you so soon.” 

“ I get you,” she nodded. “ That’ll be all right. 
I can look round a bit myself, too. Between the 
two of us, we ought to land something.” 

Stoddard’s conscience gave him a sharp twinge. 
This frank confidence in him was unmerited; her 
serene optimism shamed him. He would have to 
do something now. Suppose she discovered what he 
had planned to do; what he really had done, in fact? 
Not if he could help it would she ever know why the 
woman on the south-bound train changed her mind 
with such startling swiftness. 


120 


MISTER 44 ” 


Meantime the matter of finding shelter for Sadie 
was the immediate business in hand. He glanced 
at his watch. It was nine thirty. 

“ Well, we’ve got to get a lodging for you,” he 
said. 

“ Sure,” she assented. “ Where is the boardin’- 
house? ” 

“ There isn’t any boarding-house right here,” he 
explained. “ There’s a sort of one up at the other 
station, but we don’t want to walk six miles along 
the track. I was planning to put you up at the hotel 
on Deepwater Island. It’s easier to get there.” 

“ Hotel? ” murmured Sadie. u Why, just as you 
say. Is it a swell place? ” 

“ I wouldn’t call it that. It’s filled with city 
people.” 

“ Just spendin’ the summer? ” 

He nodded. 

u Well, lead me to it,” said Sadie with resignation. 
“ I don’t know what kind of a figure I’ll cut in a 
swell hotel, but I guess they can stand it for one 
night.” 

“ Don’t you worry,” he said. 

“ I won’t. I’ll let them. How much ’ll it cost, 
Mr. Stoddard? ” 

“ We won’t bother about that now. I’ll take care 
of that, anyhow.” 

“ No,” said Sadie firmly. “ Much obliged, but I 
got to pay my own way, Mr. Stoddard.” 

“ Of course,” he said hastily. “ What I meant 
was, if it should happen to pinch you a little, why, I 
could advance you whatever you needed until ” 


SADIE ARRIVES 


1 2 1 


“ Until I get to workin’,” she interrupted with a 
nod. “ I’m obliged for that, too. But I ain’t goin’ 
to do it if there’s any way to help it, Mr. Stoddard. 
I got some money; I drawed out all I had in the 
bank. I never borrowed any money yet from no- 
body, and I ain’t goin’ to start now. At least I ain’t 
beginnin’ till I’ve kissed my last iron man good-by.” 

“ All right, Sadie, but when the last iron man 
goes I’ll expect you to let me know.” 

“Well, maybe — if I ain’t got a job by then. 
But that won’t happen. I’ll get a job! ” 

“ Of course.” 

“Now, which way to the Waldorf?” she asked 
briskly. 

“It’s mostly by water; we take the canoe,” he 
answered. 

“ This thing? ” asked Sadie, touching it with her 
foot. “ The one you came shootin’ down that 
waterfall in? Why, I was wonderin’ how it was big 
enough for you, leavin’ alone me. I’m some size, 
Mr. Stoddard. Sure there’ll be room? With that 
baggage, too? ” 

“ Lots,” he assented, laughing. “ Just because 
you can lift it don’t despise it. It’ll carry three or 
four of you.” 

Sadie looked at it doubtfully; then her face 
cleared. 

“ If you say it’ll carry me, why, it will,” she said. 
“ I oughta know that without arguin’. Are you 
goin’ to run me down a waterfall in it? ” 

“ Why? Would you like to try it? ” 

“ I wouldn’t mind. It looked excitin’.” 


122 


“ MISTER 44 ” 


“Well, not this time. We just have smooth 
sailing on the lake. That’s in the other direction.” 

As Stoddard spoke he looked overhead, and some- 
thing roused him to action. Sadie followed his 
glance. 

“ Not so many stars,” she commented. 

“ No. We’ll get right along, if you don’t mind. 
It may rain.” 

He feared more than rain, however. The look 
of the sky and the feel of the air did not reassure 
him. 

Shouldering the canoe and balancing it with one 
hand, Stoddard reached down and picked up Sadie’s 
grip. 

“Here, lemme have that!” she exclaimed. 
“ You got enough to carry.” 

“ You take your coat and sweater and follow me,” 
he commanded. “ I’m doing this.” 

“Yes, sir,” said Sadie meekly. 

She was as close to his heels as the canoe would 
permit when the short path from the station plat- 
form led them to the rickety wharf at the edge of 
the lake. Sadie stood staring out at the dark 
water, while Stoddard busied himself loading her 
traps into the boat. The bigness and the stillness 
of it struck to her very soul. She felt her pulse 
quicken and drew her breath deeper and more 
sharply. Something thrilled her softly. 

“ All ready,” he said, kneeling beside the floating 
canoe to steady it. 

Sadie paused before stepping in. 


SADIE ARRIVES 


123 

“Say!” she declared abruptly. “We haven’t 
shook hands yet. Can’t we? ” 

“ We surely can,” said Stoddard, rising to his 
feet. 

It was no timid, flaccid hand that he found in his. 
It was warm and firm and strong. It was not slim 
and fragile, like Estelle’s, nor roly-poly and velvety, 
like Kitty’s. It was a real hand, with a real woman 
behind it. 

“ Now we can go ahead,” said Sadie, as Stoddard 
slowly released her fingers. “Where do I sit?” 

He held the canoe firmly while she placed herself 
where he directed; then, with a final swift look at 
the sky, he stepped in and pushed out into the lake. 


CHAPTER IX 


SHIPWRECK 

M OST of the stars were hidden as they set 
off across Island Bay at a rapid pace, 
only those that Sadie described as “ the 
main ones ” still showing faintly through a thicken- 
ing haze overhead. The air was lifeless, but to 
Stoddard’s trained senses it hinted at a sudden 
awakening. He expected wind with the rain. 

Sadie was not weather-wise in the north country, 
so her own mind was untroubled by any shadow of 
anxiety as the canoe shot swiftly over the dark 
water. Even in the darkness her eyes lacked no 
objects to dwell upon. The shores that diverged 
on either hand were lofty and wooded save for one 
jutting cape, where a spear of rock lifted itself high 
above the lake, as if poised for a plunge into the 
quiet depths. ’ 

Ahead lay the rounded knob of the peninsula, 
while scattered in the foreground were the scores of 
little islands that gave the bay its name. The out- 
lines of these things she could discern, while her 
imagination filled in the picture. 

No sound save the rhythmical rise and fall of the 
paddle and the drip of the water from its blade came 
to her ears. The silence for a long time seemed to 
lay a finger upon her lips, as if it were a sacrilege 
124 


SHIPWRECK 


12 5 


to speak. She lay back against the forward thwart, 
her coat serving as a cushion, and opened her soul 
to the mysteries of Deepwater. 

A dreamy contentment filled her. It was good 
and wonderful to look at, this big outdoors, even 
when the curtain of night had descended. Yet, 
though she marveled, she felt that she was not sur- 
prised. Something had whispered to her that it 
would be like this. Now it seemed that every one 
of her senses was carrying the same message — 
“ It’s true, just as you saw it in the vision.” 

The route to the hotel occupied Stoddard’s atten- 
tion to the exclusion of all else. He knew it well 
enough, but he did not want to lose a yard of distance 
by wandering carelessly from the course. Often he 
looked upward and, following each glance, he 
spurted a few strokes. Even the “ main stars ” 
were invisible now. 

He skirted close to the shore on his left hand and 
began bearing away from the islands after the canoe 
had rounded a point. Sadie had been watching the 
black spots grow steadily larger as they approached, 
and now that she saw they would come no nearer she 
sighed gently. 

“ It looks nice over there,” she commented in a 
whisper, waving her arm toward the islands. 

“ They’re off our course, however,” he answered. 
“ Some day you may have a chance to see them.” 

“ I’d like to own one,” she said wistfully. 

“For what?” 

“ Oh, just to live on, I guess. But I suppose 
there’s no jobs there.” 


126 


MISTER 44 


u Not unless you built a hotel and opened up for 
business,” he laughed. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that!” she exclaimed. 
“ Not even if I had the coin. I’d want it all to my- 
self. It ’d be just like I owned a separate country 
and was the boss of the whole thing. That’s a 
foolish idea, maybe. But I’d be awful selfish with 
that island for a while.” 

“ The Woman Hermit of the Deepwater,” he 
observed lightly. 

“ That’s the idea! ” she exclaimed. “ You see, I 
ain’t ever had a chance to do any hermiting, except 
in a hall bedroom, and it ain’t much fun there. 
You’ve got to do it all in your mind and keep your 
eyes shut, ’cause every time you open ’em the 
chrysanthe’ums on the wall-paper keeps remindin’ 
you that you ain’t really a hermit at all. 

“ Then, maybe, when you’ve got your eyes shut 
and you’re away off somewheres by yourself, you 
hear the supper-bell ringin’ or some kid bawlin’ out 
a baseball extra, and the bet’s off again. That’s 
why I’d like to have one good try at it.” 

“ You’d soon find it lonesome.” 

“ Maybe. But say, Mr. Stoddard, was you ever 
lonesome in a boardin’-house? ” 

“ Can’t say I was.” 

“ Then you ain’t been lonesome at all,” she de- 
clared. “ That’s the blow-in-the-bottle stuff when 
it comes to lonesomeness — a boardin’-house. I 
read a book about a girl who was lonesome like 
that. It was true enough, but I got sort of mad at 


SHIPWRECK 


127 

her, too. She used to sit and cry over it and get 
sad.” 

“ And didn’t you? ” 

“ Do I look as if I’d ever spent much time weep in’ 
into a lace handkerchief? Some of ’em do, I know; 
but not me. What’s the use? It don’t get you 
nothing but a red nose. That’s why I got sore on 
the girl in the book. She was always dabbin’ at her 
eyes and snufflin’ and sayin’ how cruel the world 
was. 

“ No, sir, Mr. Stoddard! When I got the lone- 
some habit I used to go out and hunt up something 
to laugh at, or else shut my eyes and go hermit- 
ing.” 

“ And would it always work? ” 

“ I can’t remember when it didn’t. Of course, 
it’s like kiddin’ yourself, in a way. But there’s 
worse things than that.” 

“ You ought to write a D. O. after your name, 
Sadie.” 

“ What’s that? ” 

“ It’s a degree I’ve just invented — Doctor of 
Optimism.” 

“ Opti — What?” 

“ Optimism. It means always looking on the 
bright side, even if your luck runs bad.” 

“ That’s a good word,” she said soberly. “ I’m 
goin’ to learn that one. Op-ti-mism. That gets it 
all in one package. I don’t know much about those 
kind of words, but I won’t forget that.” 

He heard her repeating it softly to herself several 


128 


MISTER 44 ” 


times, emphasizing each syllable. It rather as- 
tonished him that he had no impulse to laugh. 

The way to the Deepwater Hotel from the lower 
station is all water, if you choose to take it thus; 
but, like every other journey in this woods country, 
it has its short cut as well. Stoddard felt that he 
was pressed for time, and decided on the portage. 
It was a very short one — less than two hundred 
yards — and would save x nearly two miles of 
paddling around into the South Arm, where Deep- 
water Island lay. 

When he beached the canoe at the beginning of 
the carry Sadie exclaimed in a tone of regret: 

“ Are we there already? ” 

“ Not to the hotel. There’ll be more paddling 
in a few minutes. We are just taking a short cut 
across country.” 

“ I wasn’t tired,” she said as she stepped ashore. 

“ I know. But I’m afraid it’s going to rain some, 
and there’s no need to get wet if we can help it.” 

“ Don’t fret about me if we do get caught,” re- 
marked Sadie as she watched him haul the canoe 
out. “ I never did carry a umbrella.” 

Sadie insisted on taking her grip across the port- 
age. To avoid time lost in argument, Stoddard let 
her have her way. It was very dark where the 
path ran under the trees, so he made her hold fast 
to the end of the canoe, as a guide to her footsteps. 

Once she let go abruptly, and he heard a scuffling 
behind him, followed by a crash. 

“ Anything wrong? ” he asked, halting. 

“Ain’t I the clumsy thing!” exclaimed a voice 


SHIPWRECK 


129 


from the gloom. “ My nose got to itchin’, and I 
didn’t dare let go the boat ’cause you told me not 
to, so I tried to scratch it with my other hand and 
dropped my bag, and then fell over it. The bag, 
I mean.” 

“ Hurt?” 

“ No ! ” she answered scornfully. 

“ Pass me the grip.” 

“ Nothin’ doin’, Mr. Stoddard. I’ll carry that 
grip or die failin’ over it. Where is the blame 
thing? All right; I got it. Now wait till I get hold 
of the boat again. 

“Ouch! I found it with my nose. It won’t 
need scratchin’ no more. Now go ahead.” 

Stoddard pushed on, moving at a pace that Sadie 
could follow. Once she stumbled again — this time 
over a root. 

“ Don’t they ever lay a sidewalk here? ” she asked 
as she recovered herself. 

“ Not out this way,” he laughed. “ Are you 
anxious for pavements again? ” 

“No-o; I suppose I oughtn’t to have said that. 
But I ain’t anxious to get my new suit all tore, either, 
and I guess I did that time. It’s these stingy skirts 
we’re all wearin’ now,” she added, naively speaking 
for her sex. “ Some fashions are awful tryin’.” 

“ Some of the women who come up here don’t 
bother with skirts at all,” he informed her. 

“ You mean they just wear — pants ? ” 

“ That’s it; pants.” 

He could hear her chuckling behind him. 

“ What do they look like? ” she asked. 


130 


“ MISTER 44 ” 


“ They look all right. It’s sensible.” 

“ They don’t wear ’em around the hotel, do 
they? ” 

“No; they put skirts on there. I mean out in 
camp.” 

“Oh! Well, maybe it’s all right. But I can’t 
help laughih’. I’m thinkin’ how some that I know 
’d look. No. 12, for instance. Why, she wouldn’t 
be nothin’ but a little boy! Pants, eh? I’ll bet 
they look funny! ” 

An instant later: 

“ Holy smoke ! There I go again ! Something 
tore, too. Pants! Well, I’m no suffragette, but I 
wished I had a pair now ! ” 

When Stoddard dropped the canoe into the water 
at the other end of the portage he pointed across the 
broad sweep of the South Arm to a group of faintly 
twinkling lights. 

“ There’s the hotel,” he said. 

“ How far? ” 

“ It’s close to three miles. It’s on an island.” 

Sadie began an examination of her skirt that con- 
firmed her worst suspicions. 

“ It’s got two slits instead of one, now,” she an- 
nounced. “That ought to make it twice as swell, 
hadn’t it? It’s easier to walk in, anyhow. Here’s 
the grip. Do I sit in the same place? ” 

The hotel lay diagonally across this arm of Deep- 
water, and as Stoddard laid the course for it he cast 
anxious glances skyward and behind. The prospect 
did not please him. The South Arm is wide and 
open near the upper end, its surface unbroken with 


SHIPWRECK 


131 

islands for several miles. That on which the hotel 
stands is the first of an irregular chain that stretches 
off southward. Winds sweep unchecked, and no 
obstacle offers itself to the rush of the seas they 
carry before them. 

A few drops of rain fell. Stoddard bent to his 
paddle, throwing into each thrust all the energy of 
his sinewy back and shoulders. 

“ Better put on that ulster,” he advised. “ It’s 
going to rain some.” Sadie drew the garment about 
her shoulders. 

A few minutes later he felt a quick puff of warm 
wind on his cheek; then the air was still again; then 
another puff. The rain was becoming steady; it fell 
in heavier volume. The wind was not far off now. 

“ We’re going to get wet. Can you stand that? ” 
he called. 

“ Nothin’ on me ’ll run,” she answered cheer- 
fully. 

Now came a sharp blast of wind that did not en- 
tirely die away, but played fitfully on the surface of 
the water, uncertain as to direction and even 
hesitant as to pace. First it dashed the rain into the 
back of his neck; then, with a bewildering shift, sent 
it beating into his eyes. Stoddard bent his head and 
laid himself to his work. 

Glancing up at brief intervals, he could still see 
the lights of the hotel, but they were becoming dim- 
mer each time. The rain had overtaken the canoe 
from the rear; he knew that when it had advanced a 
little farther beyond them it would blot out com- 
pletely the beacon that was guiding him. 


132 


“ MISTER 44 ” 


The wind was picking up rapidly and steadying 
itself. In a few minutes there would be a sea. 
Stoddard gritted his teeth. He knew he should not 
have taken the chance. Alone, the risk would not 
have given him concern. He had taken a light 
canoe through more than this stretch of storm-lashed 
water and been none the worse for it. 

But the girl was so much dead weight. She could 
not even paddle. There was no turning back to the 
shore they had left; there was nothing to do but 
drive ahead. 

“ All right up there? ” he called. 

“All right!” answered Sadie, turning her head 
in order to fling the words at him. 

“ It’s going to blow some ! ” 

“ It’s blowin’ now.” 

“ I mean it ’ll blow harder. You’re not fright- 
ened? ” 

“ Ought I to be?” 

“No!” 

“ If you say so I ain’t, then.” 

The hotel lights were now shrouded effectually by 
the dark mist of rain. Minute by minute the sea 
rose as the wind laid its grip on the lake. The 
farther they ran with it the more there would be, 
Stoddard knew. Yet the only thing to do was to 
run. 

For several minutes he kept the bow of the canoe 
pointed, as nearly as he could guess, to the hotel on 
Deepwater Island. The seventeen-foot craft was 
pitching now, alternately lifting her bow at a sharp 


SHIPWRECK 


i33 

angle, then raising her stern as a wave, thrusting 
from behind, urged her forward at racing speed. 

But it soon became apparent to Stoddard that he 
could not long hold this course, for the roll of the 
sea was quartering upon him, so that in addition to 
the pitching the canoe was rocking from side to side, 
giving her a corkscrew motion. 

He stuck it out as long as he dared; then per- 
mitted the bow to fall off until he was headed dead 
before the wind and sea. The corkscrew plunges 
ceased, but the pitching became more violent. 

“ Keep your weight as low as possible ! ” he called 
to Sadie. “ Lie out straight! ” 

Sadie obeyed as literally as she could, but her head 
was still supported by the forward thwart. 

“ Can’t I paddle, too?” she shouted. 

“No! Lie still!” 

Straight down the South Arm they were running 
now, as nearly as Stoddard could figure. Their 
course would not touch Deepwater Island, yet he 
had no choice of direction. The ever-increasing 
wind drove them at a speed he could not himself 
have attained in quiet water. He was putting little 
weight in the paddle now; he did not dare. Steer- 
ageway was all his craft would stand in that sea. 

Presently what he had been fearing happened. 
A sheet of spray, whipped from the top of a wave 
by a gust, flung itself aboard, leaving half an inch 
of water in the bottom of the canoe. It was fol- 
lowed a minute later by another, then a third. 

Once, when a crested roller lifted the stern as if it 


134 


MISTER 44 ” 


were a feather, he thought the canoe was going to 
dive head foremost into the hollow ahead. He 
managed to check the rush with his paddle, but a 
gallon or so of water shipped itself. 

Already he could feel the light vessel acting slug- 
gishly. The water she had taken was rolling alter- 
nately forward and aft, throwing added weight 
where it ought not to be. And there was no hint of 
a let-up in the gale. Nor did he expect one; this 
was no thunder-squall that would whip itself out in 
a few minutes. Stoddard was becoming anxious. 

Steadily and ominously the downpour from the 
black sky added to the water that was coming aboard 
from the lake itself. When the bow lifted Stod- 
dard found his legs enveloped inches deep in the 
swash that rushed sternward. He shook his head 
and muttered something. 

“ Bail some of this water out! ” he yelled. 

“ What with?” 

Although Sadie shouted the question, the words 
came to him faintly, as if from a great distance. 

“ Your hat!” 

It was a flimsy straw affair, he remembered, and 
he had little faith in it; but there was nothing 
else. 

Sadie tore it from her head and went to work 
awkwardly. For a while it seemed that she was 
gaining a little; then her work was undone by two 
waves whose crests came aboard in rapid succession. 
The canoe began to act like a water-logged ship, 
rising reluctantly, settling as if each dip would be hr r 
last. 


SHIPWRECK 


i35 


Stoddard groped in front of him with one hand 
and laid hold of Sadie’s grip. With a quick toss he 
sent it over the side. The girl heard the splash but 
did not understand. 

“ I chucked your grip over ! ” he shouted. 

For an instant the feminine instinct in Sadie 
leaped to the surface. She uttered a little cry of 
dismay. Her new things! Gone! Then she fell 
once more upon the hopeless task of bailing with her 
hat. 

“ Good-by, wardrobe,” she murmured. 

The grip served to lighten the canoe only momen- 
tarily, for in mocking assertion of its mastery the 
gale promptly sent aboard an equivalent weight in 
water. 

It was but a question of minutes now, Stoddard 
realized. He had no hope that they were close to 
any shore; the size of the seas that hurled them on- 
ward forbade that. He knew also that they were 
far past Deepwater Island, yet too nearly in the 
center of the South Arm to have much chance of 
striking one of the islands that lay below it. 

And what of Sadie? His weight of guilt for hav- 
ing lured her into the woods-country he felt grow- 
ing heavier and more oppressive. 

“ Got that ulster on? ” he cried. 

“ Yes,” came the answer. 

“ Take it off!” 

Sadie obeyed, yet without understanding. 

“ Throw it overboard! ” 

Again she obeyed. 

The weight of the thing did not count so far as the 


1 36 “MISTER 44 ” 

canoe was concerned. But Stoddard knew it would 
count disastrously in the event that could not be long 
delayed. 

“ Not alarmed, are you? ” he shouted. 

“ I’m past that. I’m only scared stiff.” 

“Well, stop it!” 

“All right; I will.” 

In one thing the Fates were kind to Sadie. She 
was scared, as a matter of course; yet she did not 
fully realize their plight. It was a condition too 
utterly unfamiliar to impress her with its significance. 
She knew that it was wet and dark and stormy and 
that somehow, where she ought to be sitting in a 
dry boat, she was crouched in a pool of water several 
inches deep. 

But against all these things she set something else 
— Mr. 44. She would stake her life that he was 
not scared. Whatever he told her to do she would 
do — because he knew ! He was big and strong — 
perhaps as strong as the storm itself. 

So whenever she felt a spasm of fright clutch at 
her heart she thought of the man in the stern-sheets. 
Sadie had faith. 

Presently he ceased paddling and crawled for- 
ward in the canoe. 

“You’re to do anything I tell you!” he com- 
manded sternly. 

“Why, sure!” 

“ Can you swim? ” 

“ Not much. Not in this rig, anyhow, even with 
the new slit in the skirt.” 

“ Well, you won’t have to. But this canoe isn’t 


SHIPWRECK 


i37 


going to carry us much farther. Too much water. 
When it fills we’ve got to get out of it and hang on to 
the sides. It’ll float.” 

“ All right.” 

“ I’ll take care of you. Don’t worry. Don’t 
scream. Don’t get your mouth full of water! ” 

“ No, sir,” answered Sadie mechanically. 

A moment later she felt Stoddard’s powerful hand 
gripping her by the arm. 

“ Here we go ! ” he called. “ Keep your mouth 
shut.” 

Very gently the canoe settled down into the lake 
until its gunwales disappeared below the surface. 
Stoddard was clutching a thwart, however. As the 
water rose to their waists he flung Sadie sidewise 
and leaped after her. But he did not release his 
grip on the canoe. 

Relieved of its burden, it reappeared in a few 
seconds, a mere outline on the surface, yet floating. 

“ Take hold of the edge,” he ordered. “ Hold 
tight, but don’t try to climb up. Just keep your 
head out. That’ll be enough.” 

Sadie obeyed without answering. She remem- 
bered his injunction to keep her mouth shut. 

Having made sure that she was gripping the gun- 
wale with both hands, Stoddard began to work his 
way along the edge until he reached the stern. Then 
he came back on the other side of the canoe, hand 
over hand, until he was opposite to her. This ac- 
complished, he reached across, closed his fingers 
about one of her wrists, and set them in a powerful 
grip. 


“ MISTER 44 ” 


138 

“Now we’re all right,” he said. “We can’t 
sink.” 

“ No, sir,” said Sadie. 

It was blowing harder than ever. Often a wave 
swept over their heads, but for the present Stoddard 
knew they were secure. What worried him now 
was their lack of progress. They were moving, it 
was true ; but not nearly so rapidly as when the canoe 
floated. Their speed was merely that of a drift- 
ing log. 

“Cold?” he asked her after several minutes of 
silence. 

“ No; this ain’t bad,” she answered. 

“ It won’t be long now,” he assured her. 

“ Sure ! ” 

Stoddard presently became aware of the fact 
that the rain had ceased, although there was not the 
least lessening of the gale. He turned his glance in 
every direction, seeking a glimpse of the hotel-lights, 
but failed to find them. Waves that rose about him 
limited his vision, while the canoe failed to rise upon 
the crests, but lurched soggily through them. 

Occasionally he talked to her, trying to make his 
voice confident and cheerful. She answered him in 
monosyllables, faithfully trying to follow his instruc- 
tion not to swallow the water that beat into her face 
and sometimes swept over her head. But often the 
answers came chokingly. 

Half an hour passed thus. Stars were shining 
overhead, but the lake remained foam-lashed. Stod- 
dard’s arm — the one that gripped Sadie across the 
canoe — was becoming numb from the pressure of 


SHIPWRECK 


i39 


the gunwale across which it lay, but he did not dare 
ease it. His fingers were locked upon her wrist like 
bands of iron. 

“ You’re a brick, Sadie! ” he called to her. 

She did not answer, but she smiled, although he 
could not see that. He had called her a brick! 
That came pretty near making it all worth while. 

His glance strayed behind him and became fixed 
upon a black mass that slowly began to shape itself 
against the darkness. Solid earth! Perhaps it was 
only an island — yet it was earth. 

Would the drifting canoe reach it? He watched 
steadily. Yes; they were slowly shortening the dis- 
tance. There was nothing to do but wait. Nearer 
came the black shape. He could make out trees 
now, bowed under the weight of the gale. The ca- 
noe drifted on with a sodden, maddening lethargy. 

“ We’re going to reach land soon! ” he shouted. 

“ That’s good,” she answered. 

Five minutes later Stoddard’s hopes received a 
shock. They would not reach it if they remained 
with the canoe ! They were drifting past it. Al- 
ready he could see the shore-line curving away be- 
yond the point opposite them. He turned his 
glance to see what might lie in the course they were 
being borne upon. There was nothing but tossing 
water. 

“ It’s that point or nothing,” he muttered to him- 
self. 

Distances at night deceive, yet Stoddard was sure 
that not more than seventy or eighty yards sepa- 
rated them from the land. 


140 


MISTER 44 ” 


“ There’s land there ! ” he cried, pointing. “ But 
we’ve got to swim. The canoe won’t go any 
nearer.” 

“ You swim,” said Sadie in a tired voice. 

“ Both of us ! ” he said sharply. “ Wait till I get 
hold of you now ! ” 

He fairly dragged her toward him across the ca- 
noe, which sank momentarily under her weight. 

“ I’m a bum swimmer! ” she gasped. “ You go 
ahead. You’ll make it all right.” 

“ And leave you? ” 

“ That’ll be all right. I’ll keep hangin’ on and 
maybe I’ll reach another piece of land — by and 
by.” 

“You’ll come with me!” he shouted savagely. 
“You’ll reach that land — over there! Under- 
stand? ” 

“ I’ll try,” she whispered. “ But it ain’t a square 
deal for you, No. 44.” 

He pulled her clear of the canoe, hooked one 
hand firmly under her arm, and struck out toward 
the nearest point. Sadie tried to help, but her skirts 
hampered her legs, while her arms were weary from 
clinging to the canoe. The waves choked her, too, 
and the spray that flew into her eyes blinded her. 

There were minutes when Stoddard was con- 
vinced that they would never make it. Alone, it 
would have been easy for him. But Sadie was 
heavy and inexperienced, although she obeyed to the 
letter his warning not to clutch at him, whatever 
happened. 

The slowness of their progress was agony. Yet 


SHIPWRECK 


141 

they gained, little by little; sometimes a foot at a 
stroke, sometimes only inches. His numbed arm 
bothered him and the seas that constantly washed 
over them made it difficult to breathe. 

Twenty feet away was a rock upon which the 
waves were breaking. Now the distance was cut 
to fifteen, now to ten. His heart was pounding furi- 
ously and his lungs felt as if about to burst. But 
only ten feet! He could not fail now! 

His fingers clutched for a grip as a wave threw 
them heavily against the shore, and after an in- 
stant’s groping lodged themselves in a crevice. For 
several minutes he clung there, gasping. Then pain- 
fully he began to lift his burden out upon the rocks. 
She was limp in his grasp and could not help him. 
It seemed to Stoddard that it was an interminable 
undertaking. Yet he achieved it. Then he climbed 
slowly up beside her. 

Resting for an instant, he stooped and lifted her 
in his arms. The rock sloped steeply upward to- 
ward the woods. He staggered forward, mount- 
ing the short rise until his feet touched soil. His 
foot tripped and he fell heavily, clinging to his bur- 
den. 

Stoddard lay panting for several minutes beside 
the quiet figure of Sadie. When he struggled to 
his knees he seized her hands and began chafing and 
slapping them. 

“ Sadie ! ” he called, bending over her. 

He caught a murmur from her lips. 

“ We’re all right, Sadie ! We’re ashore ! ” 

“ Thanks, No. 44,” she whispered. 


CHAPTER X 


SADIE HAS SOME U OUTDOORS 99 

S EVERAL minutes later Sadie sat up and began 
pushing back wet tresses from her forehead. 
The silky masses of her hair, now sodden and 
dripping, were loosed and falling about her shoul- 
ders in disorder. She sighed as she realized the task 
that lay ahead of her. Her comb was in the grip, 
at the bottom of the South Arm. 

“ Feeling better? ” asked Stoddard. 

“ Lots. I sort of caved in, didn’t I? ” 

“ You stood more of it than I believed any woman 
could,” he answered quickly. “ And a lot of men, 
for that matter.” 

“ I tried to keep my mouth shut, as you said,” she 
observed. “ But once in a while I forgot. I did 
swaller some water. I’m glad it wasn’t salt.” 
“Cold?” 

“ No-o.” 

“Let’s get out of this wind, anyway; that is, if 
you can walk a little.” 

The point on which they had come ashore was 
exposed to the full sweep of the wind. Even where 
Sadie sat occasional showers of spray were borne by 
the gusts. Stoddard reached a hand to her as she 
struggled to her feet a little unsteadily. Her soaked 
142 


SADIE HAS SOME “ OUTDOORS ” 


i43 


clothing hung upon her heavily, like a suit of 
mail. She moved her arms slowly and stamped her 
feet. 

“ Ugh ! It squashes in my shoes ! ” she ex- 
claimed. 

“ We’ll be dried out before long,” he assured her. 
“ Let’s get into the lee of the woods.” 

Leading Sadie, he began picking his way cau- 
tiously along the shore, seeking shelter from the 
gale, which now blew under a cloudless sky. Their 
path was beset with rocks, trees, and underbrush. 
Stoddard was almost as weary as the girl herself, but 
would not confess it. 

A few minutes of tedious travel brought them 
to a spot near the shore where there was an open- 
ing among the trees. Here they halted. Al- 
though the wind swayed the branches far above their 
heads, screaming as it passed, little of it reached the 
drenched pair below. 

He found her a seat on a rock and both rested 
again. 

“ By and by we can walk to the hotel, I guess,” 
she remarked. 

“ No walking to-night,” he answered emphatically. 
“The going is too bad. You’re going to dry out 
and then get some sleep.” 

“ Here ? Out in the woods ? ” 

“ Certainly.” 

“Say, that’ll be kinda fun, won’t it? I never 
slept outdoors in my life.” 

Sadie was recovering rapidly. 

“ Thank Heaven, I’ve got some matches,” he said 


144 


“ MISTER 44 


as he drew from a pocket a waterproof cylinder with 
a screw top. “ We can have a fire and all the com- 
forts of home.” 

He left her sitting where he had placed her and 
groped his way a short distance into the woods, 
seeking firewood. Stuff that will burn readily after 
a heavy rainfall is not always easy to find, even by 
daylight, with the aid of an ax. Stoddard had 
neither light nor ax, so it took him a long time to 
gather material. 

But he persisted until he had carried several arm- 
fuls of dead limbs and twigs back to the spot he 
had chosen for a makeshift camp. It required a 
longer search to discover dry tinder. Tree after 
tree he examined with skilled hands, for his eyes 
were of almost no assistance in the darkness. 

He was searching for a dead stump in some shel- 
tered spot that might have been spared the deluge 
from the skies. Eventually he found one. 

The rotted core was wet at the top, but, as he 
dug into it with his knife, he presently began to ex- 
tract dry, powdery bits which he carefully treasured. 
Wringing out his handkerchief, he made a pouch of 
it and filled it with the precious stuff. 

Then he hacked out some dry splinters. With a 
woodsman’s memory for such details, he recalled that 
his supply of matches was limited to twelve. This 
meant that there were none to be wasted. 

Back to where Sadie sat he carried the “mak- 
ings ” and began clearing a dry spot on the earth, 
tearing up wet plants and roots and scraping away 
soggy soil with his steel-shod boots. Then, as care- 


SADIE HAS SOME “ OUTDOORS ” 145 

fully as a watch-maker adjusting a hair-spring, he 
constructed the foundation of his fire. 

It was a tiny affair, but it was scientific, with 
fine splinters laid crosswise upon a pile of tinder 
and larger ones built up about them, like the poles 
of an Indian wigwam. He worked patiently and 
deliberately, for a proper beginning was everything. 

When Stoddard was satisfied that his handiwork 
met every requirement he unscrewed the lid of the 
waterproof cylinder. Just twelve matches he 
thought it contained; and just twelve matches he 
found that it did contain. Grunting his self-ap- 
proval at the possession of a mind which subcon- 
sciously could recognize the importance of carry- 
ing such details, he extracted a single match. It 
would be folly to try scratching it on his wet trous- 
ers or upon the damp sticks that he had gathered. 
He bent his head close to the little tinder-pile and 
jerked the match swiftly between his clenched teeth. 

As it burst into a wavering, yellow flame he 
cupped it in his hands, nursed it for a few seconds, 
and carefully dropped it among the splinters so that 
it rested upon the pile of powdered wood. Anx- 
iously he awaited the result of the test. He could 
afford more matches, if necessary; but Stoddard had 
a certain pride in using but one match to light any 
fire, an economy that stood for skill. 

As the flame flickered weakly for a minute or two 
Sadie watched the delicate operation with the inter- 
est of a novice. 

“ It’s an awful little fire,” she commented pres- 
ently. 


146 


“ MISTER 44 ” 


“ You were little yourself once,” retorted Stod- 
dard as he smiled approvingly upon his work; “ but 
you grew.” 

“ I get you,” she said quickly. “ I got my an- 
swer that time. I might ’ve known.” 

For several minutes he did not stir from his post 
of watchfulness. As the flames took hold slowly 
he added little sticks, one at a time, after splitting 
them with his knife so as to expose a dry surface 
to the blaze. At last he nodded in a confident 
way. 

“ We’ll have the real thing in fifteen minutes,” he 
announced. “ Two of them, in fact.” 

“Two?” 

“ So we can sit between them and dry both sides 
at the same time.” 

“ That’s an idea, too,” commented Sadie thought- 
fully. “ I wouldn’t ’ve thought of that.” 

“ You would if you’d been wet as many times as 
I have.” 

“ I suppose so. Folks catch on to things when 
they have to. I been learnin’ things ever since I 
saw you cornin’ down that waterfall. Outdoors ain’t 
so simple as it looks. I guess you know an awful lot 
about it, Mr. Stoddard.” 

“ What was it you called me out there in the lake, 
and once after we got ashore? ” he asked. 

“ I don’t know as I remember; I was kinda dazed. 
What did I say? ” 

“ I think you called me No. 44.” 

“Did I?” Sadie laughed a little and flushed. 
“ I suppose I did. It’s the way I got to thinkin’ 


SADIE HAS SOME “ OUTDOORS ” 147 

about you before I seen you. I didn’t mean noth- 
in’ by it.” 

“ Say it any time you like. I don’t mind it.” 

“Why, all right. It comes kinda easy; that’s 
all.” 

After his first fire was well under way Stoddard 
built another some eight or ten feet distant. Their 
retreat in the lee of the woods was now flooded with 
yellow light, by which Sadie began to study with 
eager interest every visible detail, while the illumina- 
tion helped Stoddard in his search for fuel. He 
found a log and dragged it to a point between the 
fires. This furnished a seat for them. 

“ Shoes off ! ” he commanded as he began unlac- 
ing his own boots. 

Sadie obeyed. Two pairs of stout leather foot- 
gear were soon steaming at the edge of the fire to- 
ward which they faced. 

Sadie fell into a reverie as she watched the crack- 
ling blaze. She was rather pleased with her out- 
doors; she did not have a bitter thought even for 
the lake and the storm. It seemed that things hap- 
pened quickly in the woods-country, and unex- 
pectedly. 

Back in the packing-room people did the same 
thing again and again, thousands, tens of thousands 
of times. Here she had already done a score of 
things, each different from the other. Each was 
something like an adventure, too; in fact, she was 
sure some of them were real adventures. 

Stoddard spent the minutes in covertly watching 
her. In the ruddy light he discovered that the 


148 


MISTER 44 


damp coils of hair that fell about her shoulders al- 
most matched the fire itself. Once he furtively fin- 
gered a strand that lay across his knee. Sadie felt 
the touch and glanced down. 

“ It’ll dry after a while,” she laughed. “ But it’ll 
be an awful mess, ’cause I ain’t got a comb. The 
one I had went swimmin’ along with my swell out- 
fit.” 

“ It looks good to me just the way it is,” he said 
with frank admiration. 

“ It’s a fast color, anyhow,” said Sadie in a mat- 
ter-of-fact tone. 

But, though her voice was casual, something in- 
side of her gave a little jump. No. 44 liked her 
hair! That was worth knowing. In the morning, 
she decided, she would manage somehow to arrange 
it, even without a comb. 

“ I’m sorry I had to throw your stuff overboard,” 
he said, his mind reverting to the suddenly ended 
voyage. “ We’d never have managed to get it 
ashore, anyhow.” 

“ I’m not worryin’ about it. I’ll get some new 
things after I get to workink” 

“ You’ll have to let me lend you some money now, 
I imagine. Please don’t hesitate to say so.” 

“ Not yet,” answered Sadie. “ Of course my 
pocketbook is gone; that was in the grip. It had 
some change in it. But — ” 

She hesitated, then laughed and colored. “ Well, 
I still got fourteen dollars.” 

“ That’ll help some,” he said gravely. “ Better 
dry it before it turns to pulp.” 


SADIE HAS SOME “ OUTDOORS 


149 


Whereupon he arose and sauntered off into the 
woods, whence he returned several minutes later, 
dragging a fresh log for the fire. He noted a ten- 
dollar bill and four ones carefully spread out near 
the rim of the embers and weighted with little stones. 
A smile came to his lips, but he hid it from Sadie. 

“ You got to let me do some work,” she said, half- 
rising from her seat. “ I can carry wood.” 

“ You’ll have work enough in the morning. Sit 
still. How’s the fire ? ” 

“ Great! It’s makin’ me lazy, though. I just 
like to sit and look into it — and think.” 

“ About what? ” 

“ Everything. I get funny ideas sometimes, No. 
44 — ideas that ain’t got nothin’ to do with what’s 
really goin’ on. Do you know what I was thinkin’ 
of just as we was gettin’ upset out there? I was 
thinkin’ what a grand movie it would make.” 

“ You’re one of the film fanatics, I take it,” he 
said, laughing. 

“ I’m strong for ’em, if that’s what you mean. 
Who ain’t? I mean folks who live in cities and 
can’t get what they want except in the movies. I 
went regular. Why, I put aside so much for it every 
week ! I just couldn’t miss ’em ! ” 

“How much did you get a week?” he asked 
curiously. 

“ Seven dollars.” 

He considered the possibilities of a seven-dollar 
income, and found the subject depressing. 

“ Not very easy sledding,” he said. 

“ Why, I don’t know,” she returned promptly. 


“ MISTER 44 ” 


150 

“ Of course, you can’t buy no automobile and you 
can’t do too much trolley-ridin’. But a girl can man- 
age. I done it. Why, I had a bank-book! ” 

“ The other girls didn’t,” asserted Stoddard. 

Sadie’s eyes were alight with astonishment as she 
turned to him. 

“ How did you know that? ” she demanded. 

“ I can’t say; just guessed it. It’s right, isn’t it? ” 

“Yes; it’s right. They thought I was a nut. 
But ” — and she tossed her head with a gesture of 
defiance — “ if they’d ’ve got that letter from you 
they wouldn’t have been able to call on you, like you 
said to do. They wouldn’t Ve 6ven had car fare.” 

So here was the explanation ! More than once he 
had puzzled over the bland assurance with which 
Sadie cut loose from Buffalo and made her way to 
the outdoors country, putting her trust in a stran- 
ger. Her justification, it seemed, lay in his letter. 
He remembered the phrase now: “Any time I can 
do anything for you, don’t fail to call on me.” So 
she had called — literally! 

Perfunctory commonplaces of correspondence Sa- 
die interpreted to the letter. She appraised things 
at face value. She knew no subtleties of speech or 
thought. 

It was all beautifully direct and simple, he re- 
flected, and rather to be admired. But a literal- 
minded young woman was also an incentive to cau- 
tion. He must be careful. 

“ Speaking of money,” he observed, “ it’s the last 
thing that’s of any use to you and me until we get 
somewhere. Let’s see what else we’ve got. I have 


SADIE HAS SOME “ OUTDOORS ” 15 1 

a knife and eleven matches. And here’s my watch; 
stopped, of course.” 

He held the nickel timepiece to his ear, then shook 
it. 

“ Full of water,” he commented. “ Well, we 
couldn’t eat it, and it won’t keep us warm; so that 
doesn’t matter.” 

He completed a search of his pockets, bringing 
forth a pipe and a dripping tobacco-pouch. The 
latter he examined anxiously. 

“ About half a dozen smokes,” he said ruefully. 
“ That won’t last long.” 

He laid the open pouch near the fire and blew the 
water from the stem of the pipe. 

“ Now, what have you got, Sadie? ” 

Sadie had been hunting, too, and one find re- 
sulted. From a pocket that had been skilfully con- 
cealed in her skirt she drew forth a damp, sticky 
cake of chocolate. 

“ There’s just one end of it been nibbled,” she 
said. “ I was savin’ it for a feed.” 

“ Great! ” he exclaimed. “ We’ve got fire, grub, 
a knife, tobacco. Why, we’re millionaires! ” 

“ You’re one of those things yourself, ain’t you? 
An op-ti-mism,” pronouncing the syllables carefully. 
“ I told you I’d remember that.” 

Stoddard now began to consider their prospects 
minutely. If they were on the mainland there was, 
beyond doubt, a long and painful tramp ahead of 
them. No roads had been cut in the Deepwater sec- 
tion, for no timber had ever been taken out, while 
the only trails that existed in the forests were mere 


152 “MISTER 44 ” 

overland connections between water-courses and 
lakes. 

But he feared that they were not on the main- 
land at all. While the darkness prevented any ac- 
curate survey of their refuge, Stoddard suspected 
that their swim had landed them upon an island. 
He did not disclose this belief to Sadie; there was no 
need to alarm her in case it should turn out later to 
be incorrect. 

Even granting that it was an island, there might 
be no cause for dismay, despite the fact that they 
had no means of departing from it. Several of the 
islands in the South Arm were in plain sight of that 
which contained the hotel, and a signal made on any 
one of them would be easily seen. 

Judging, however, from the direction of the gale 
that was responsible for the wreck of the canoe, 
Stoddard doubted if they were marooned on any 
such fortunately situated isle. He knew there were 
deep and seldom visited bays along the edges of the 
South Arm, many of which were studded with islands 
that rarely felt the tread of the camper’s foot. If 
it was to one of these they had been driven their 
case was quite different — and not so pleasant. It 
meant delayed rescue, and something else that would 
not be delayed — hunger. 

“ You’re frownin’,” observed Sadie. “ Anything 
wrong? ” 

“ Not at all,” he answered hastily. 

“ You don’t need to be scared of tellin’ me if there 
is. Is there any animals goin’ to hurt us? ” 

He burst out laughing; then apologized. 


SADIE HAS SOME “ OUTDOORS ” 


i53 


“ Why, that’s all right,” she said placidly. “ I 
expect to get laughed at up here, for a while, any- 
how. I’m green. I think there’s been lots of times 
already when you wanted to laugh and didn’t. It 
don’t hurt my feelin’s, so long as it ain’t a shrimp 
laughin’.” 

Because he wanted to know she told him about 
shrimps generally and collectively, and the Shrimp 
specifically. 

“ The Shrimp wouldn’t never have come through 
that ! ” she exclaimed in conclusion, pointing out to 
where they could catch glimpses of the wind-lashed 
lake. 

“ The Shrimp,” said Stoddard, “ after your de- 
scription of him, would probably have been invited 
to do his own swimming.” 

“ He’d ’ve been easier’n me to handle,” she said 
thoughtfully. “ I’m a house.” 

u Nonsense ! ” 

“ Maybe I ain’t to you, but I am to most people. 
Do you know what some of the girls used to call 
me? Woolworth. They said I was as big as the 
Woolworth Buildin’.” 

“ Did you ever see it? ” he asked quietly. 

“ No. I never was in New York.” 

Stoddard began poking at the fire and adding fresh 
wood. 

“ Well,” said Sadie after a pause, “ what about 
the Woolworth Buildin’ ? ” 

“ Why, it happens to be the handsomest big build- 
ing in New York; that is all.” 

“ Oh ! ” gasped Sadie. “ Why — oh ! ” 


154 


MISTER 44 


She seized a stick and began digging in the soil 
at her feet, bending over to conceal her face. Pres- 
ently she said “ Oh ! ” again, but she did not look up 
from her occupation. She was still busily occupied 
when Stoddard made another trip for fire-wood. 

As he strode into the woods she glanced up cau- 
tiously and looked after him. 

“ He’ll think I was fishin’,” she whispered. “ But 
I wasn’t; I didn’t know. I never even seen a picture 
of it!” 

Now for the first time she frowningly inspected the 
rent in her steaming skirt. She began a fruitless 
search for pins, and sighed. Finding that her hair 
was nearly dry, she essayed to wind it into a coil 
on top of her head, although all hairpins had van- 
ished. 

“ I must try to get a picture of it,” she said mus- 
ingly. 

Stoddard finally managed to squirm into his damp 
boots, after which he made a series of journeys into 
the brush, returning each time with his arms full of 
balsam-boughs. 

“ What for? ” she asked finally. 

“ I’m going to make you a bed,” was the explana- 
tion. 

She watched the construction of it with an eye for 
every detail. 

“There! You’ll not find that so bad,” he said 
as he finished his task. 

“Bad? It looks elegant!” she exclaimed. 
“ Say, you know a lot about this business; don’t you, 
No. 44?” 


SADIE HAS SOME “ OUTDOORS ” 


i55 


“ Tin always learning something new.” 

“ You must learn me some of it,” she said with a 
decisive nod. 

He bit his lip and shook his head, although she 
did not see him. Even had she witnessed this in- 
voluntary sign of annoyance Sadie would not have 
understood. She did not know that her speech was 
always so different from that of Kitty and Estelle. 

Stoddard smoked one pipeful of the treasured to- 
bacco and began to feel comfortable again. Elis 
clothing was nearly dry. Sadie assured him that 
she was “ perfectly dry,” but the wisps of steam that 
arose from her garments whenever she moved close 
to the fire testified that she was either oblivious to 
mere dampness or was prevaricating with a view of 
relieving him of possible concern for her. 

They talked until she found herself yawning, and 
then she stretched herself upon the balsam couch. 

“ It’s soft and springy and it smells good,” she 
said sleepily. “ I’ve had some outdoors, anyhow, 
even if it’s the last.” 

After a while Stoddard propped his back against 
a tree and let his head droop forward on his breast. 
Only the fire remained awake. 


CHAPTER XI 

SADIE FINDS SHE’S RICH 

M ORNING was golden. That is a habit 
with September mornings in the Deep- 
water country. The wind still whipped 
the lake, but there was not so much as a fleck of white 
cloud in the sky. 

It was the sun shining in her eyes that awakened 
Sadie. She yawned, stretched luxuriously, and me- 
chanically reached an arm toward the place where 
her sixty-nine-cent alarm-clock usually stood. When 
her hand touched damp moss she sat up quickly and 
stared at the trees and the water. Then she smiled 
contentedly. 

“ It’s real,” she said. “ I was afraid I’d been 
dreamin’.” 

Now her glance rested upon Stoddard, whose 
shoulders had slipped from their support against a 
tree and whose body lay at full length on the earth, 
relaxed in heavy slumber. She contemplated the 
sleeper gravely for a moment, then smiled again. 

Sadie rose cautiously from her balsam couch and 
tiptoed toward the edge of the lake. The move- 
ment brought her close to where Stoddard lay, and 
she paused to observe him. 

“ He don’t look comfortable,” she thought. “ I 
oughta fix his head, but it might wake him.” 

156 


SADIE FINDS SHE’S RICH 


i57 


She resumed her noiseless journey and presently 
found herself at the brink of the lake. Here, in the 
immediate lee of the shore, the water was still and 
clear. How deep it was she had no idea, but the 
rocks at the bottom were easily visible. Something 
moved out from the shadow of one, then disap- 
peared from her view like an arrow. 

“ Wish I had a fishin’-pole I ” she exclaimed 
softly. 

Across the stretch of water, more than half a 
mile distant, lay an island, and beyond that a high 
bluff that skirted the mainland. To her right were 
more islands, while on the other direction there 
seemed to be a long stretch of water bordered ulti- 
mately by hills whose outlines were now softened in a 
blue-gray haze. 

Sadie glanced at the sleeper. He had not stirred. 

“ I’ll take a little walk,” she said. “ No. 44 needs 
his sleep.” 

Carefully picking her way along the rocks until 
she was out of ear-shot, Sadie began to walk as 
briskly as the contour of the shore would permit. 
She was not lame, but her muscles were stiff and 
cramped. Occasionally she halted to stretch her 
arms upward and backward and fill her lungs to their 
utmost with the virile morning air. Her dress was 
nearly dry: an hour of the sun would finish the work. 

She halted for a few minutes on a little beach, 
the first break on the rock-bound shore, and picked 
up colored pebbles that caught her eye. A pair of 
birds chirped at her as they ran swiftly about on 
fallen trees or hopped among the underbrush. 


158 


MISTER 44 ” 


“ Hello ! ” was her greeting. 

She continued her journey, which carried her upon 
a devious course, for the shore was indented with 
many small coves. Always she bore in mind Stod- 
dard’s caution about getting lost. She knew that 
so long as she clung to the water’s edge she was safe 
from that. 

“ No hairpins and not even a ribbon! ” she said 
in a vexed tone as her shining hair streamed about 
her face and across her eyes for perhaps the twen- 
tieth time. “ I’m a sight ! ” 

Soon becoming conscious of thirst, she stepped 
close to the water, where a shelving rock sloped 
gently. Dropping to her knees and holding her hair 
clear of the surface with one hand, she bent for- 
ward, yet paused before she drank. She had dis- 
covered a mirror. Sadie was not vain; she was 
merely feminine. She inspected her image critically, 
then sighed. 

“ I’d like to fix up a little before he sees me in day- 
light,” she murmured. “ But how can I? ” 

Her survey completed, she drank deeply, and 
afterward continued her journey. 

“ Maybe I’d better be turnin’ back,” she said after 
she had followed farther the winding shore. “ I’ve 
been gone half an hour at least, and he’ll be mad if 
he wakes up and thinks I’m lost. I mustn’t be no 
more trouble than I can help.” 

There was, however, a little point just ahead, 
and Sadie wanted to see what was beyond that. She 
reached it after a scramble through a clump of 


SADIE FINDS SHE’S RICH 


159 

bushes, for the rocks dropped steeply here and drove 
her back from the edge of the water. 

Standing on the tip of the point and looking out 
across the lake, she became aware of something fa- 
miliar in the landscape. The high bluff she had 
noted from a camp Was visible again and so were the 
islands she had first seen. Sadie considered this 
phenomenon for several minutes; then glanced to- 
ward the woods behind her. Fifty yards beyond 
she glimpsed the figure of Stoddard, still prone on 
the earth. 

“ Huh ! ” she commented. 

She hastened onward to the camp. A loose stone, 
dislodged by her foot, clattered down the rocky slope 
and plunged into the lake. At the noise of the 
splash Stoddard stirred, then sat up, rubbing his 
eyes. 

“ Hello ! ” he called as he saw Sadie. 

“ Good mornin’,” she answered. “ I’m sorry I 
Woke you up.” 

He rose to his feet and went down to the shore to 
join her. 

“ How long have you been up? ” he asked sleep- 
ily. 

“ Half an hour, maybe.” 

“ You should have called me.” 

“ I was waitin’ for the seven o’clock whistle,” she 
said, smiling. 

“ It’s long past that,” he assured her, looking up- 
ward at the sun. “ It’s more like nine o’clock. 
What have you been doing? ” 


i6o 


MISTER 44 ” 


“ I took a walk.” 

“ Trying to walk to the hotel all by yourself? ” 

“ We ain’t going to walk to the hotel,” declared 
Sadie with a nod. 

“ How do you know? ” 

“ ’Cause we can’t. It’s a island.” 

The information did not surprise him, save for its 
source. He looked at her inquiringly. 

“ I started walkin’ in that direction,” she ex- 
plained, pointing, “ and I kept goin’ until I fetched 
back here. That makes it a island, don’t it? ” 

“ It does if you followed the shore,” he assented. 
“ I was pretty sure it was an island.” 

“ You didn’t say nothin’ about it last night.” 

“No. Of course I wasn’t positive; and there 
wasn’t any use worrying you.” 

“ Listen,” said Sadie in a tone half-chiding. 
“ Don’t keep thinkin’ things are goin’ to worry me. 
I ain’t the worryin’ kind. Anything you got on your 
mind you can shoot at me and I won’t faint. You 
don’t have to hold out nothing.” 

“ Seeing you’re already an explorer,” he smiled, 
“ I guess there’s not much chance of holding out in- 
formation. You seem to get it ahead of me. What 
else have you discovered? ” 

“ Just trees and birds and fish and things like 
that.” 

He walked to the point, stood there for a mo- 
ment examining their narrowed horizon, and re- 
turned with an announcement. 

“ This is Pickerel Bay,” he said. “ It comes ip 
from the east side of the South Arm. That height 


SADIE FINDS SHE’S RICH 161 

you see over there is Indian Ridge. We’re miles 
from the hotel. I’ll show you.” 

He smoothed a spot on the ground and traced a 
rough map with the point of a stick. 

“ The island is here,” he said, indicating it with 
a stone. “ We’re about three miles from the mouth 
of the bay. We came further than I thought. The 
hotel is ’way round this point and across the arm.” 

Sadie nodded as she followed his explanation of 
the diagram. 

“ I’ve been in here often,” he added, “ but never 
camped on this island. You found a little beach be- 
low, didn’t you? ” 

“ That’s right.” 

“ I thought so. I know the island now. Did you 
see anything that looked like a camp? ” 

Sadie shook her head. 

“ It has been camped on, I know. But there may 
not have been anybody here this season. I’ll have a 
look presently. How are you feeling? ” 

“Oh, fine!” 

Stoddard stretched until the muscles in his shoul- 
ders cracked. 

“ My, but you’re full of kinks ! ” she exclaimed. 

“ The sun’ll take them out. It always does.” 

Stoddard’s inspection of Sadie by daylight did 
not astonish him, yet it chained his glance for a 
long time. For the first time he sensed the true 
glory of the cascade of bronze hair that fell below 
her waist. As the wind stirred it and wafted stray 
pennants across the path of the sunlight they seemed 
ready to burst into flame. The pink of her cheeks 


i 62 


MISTER 44 ” 


and throat, shading softly into ivory-white tints, was 
a masterpiece of coloring such as he had never be- 
fore seen. Sadie was an unspoiled triumph of Na- 
ture. 

A compliment was on his lips, but he stifled it. 
To Kitty or Estelle it would have come easily and 
as a matter of course. With Sadie it was differ- 
ent. It would be like paying some trivial praise to a 
Phidian sculpture, or a canvas by Titian. Mere 
compliments were childish. 

She was conscious of his survey and a little con- 
fused, but not displeased. 

“ If I only had a comb ! ” she sighed, again re- 
verting to her sorest trouble. 

“ I think it’s all right that way,” said Stoddard. 

“ You wouldn’t if it was yours and it was blowin’ 
in your eyes every minute.” 

“ I’ll make you a comb later,” he assured her. 
He also formed a silent resolution to be in no haste 
about the task. “ I suppose you’re hungry? ” 

“ I could eat,” she confessed. 

“ We might nibble a little of that chocolate.” 

Sadie hastened to get it. He divided half of it be- 
tween them and put the remainder aside. 

“ We’ll need that for lunch if we don’t find some- 
thing else,” he explained. “ Meantime it’s short ra- 
tions.” 

Sadie looked hungrily at the forbidden bit of cho- 
colate, but said nothing. She knew No. 44 would 
do whatever was right. If he had told her she must 
not eat at all she would have obeyed, confident that 
there were sound reasons. 


SADIE FINDS SHE’S RICH 163 

“ I wonder what Larry’s thinking,” he mused 
aloud. 

“Larry?” 

Stoddard was annoyed at his slip. He had not 
intended to tell her about Larry, just as he 
had no idea of letting Larry know anything about 
Sadie. 

“ The man I’m camped with,” he explained. 
“ He’s a greenhorn in the woods. I’m just teach- 
ing him the ropes.” 

Sadie puzzled over this intelligence for a while. 

“ Aren’t you working up here? ” she asked. 

“ No,” he admitted reluctantly. 

“ Why, I thought—” 

“ I’m taking a vacation.” 

Sadie began to look troubled. 

“ I sort of thought you belonged here,” she said 
slowly. “ I thought maybe you was buildin’ a rail- 
road in here, or a bridge.” 

“ It’s the same as home to me,” he broke in has- 
tily. 

Stoddard did not welcome the turn of the conver- 
sation. 

“ Where are you from? ” she asked. 

“ New York.” 

“ Then you’re just one of the summer boarders? 
You got no interests here? ” 

Stoddard grasped desperately at a straw. 

“ Oh, I’ve got interests here, of course. Yes, in- 
deed.” 

His camp was an interest, he reflected; Living- 
ston was an interest; Sadie was an interest. He 


1 64 “MISTER 44 ” 

was not telling a lie. He was merely allowing her to 
infer a lie. 

Not a very nice distinction, he admitted ; but to let 
Sadie acquire the idea that he was merely one of 
the season’s campers would lead to embarrassments 
about the job she still confidently expected to get. 

It was no time for Sadie to discover that she had 
been following a will-o’-the-wisp all the way to Deep- 
water. In simple and confiding frankness she had 
accepted him as a responsible person in that part 
of the big outdoors, with influence and jobs at his 
command. 

Not for a moment did she dream he was a mere 
idler from afar. It would be time enough for her 
to discover that when they were released from their 
island. 

“ I thought you must have interests,” she said in 
a relieved tone. “ It’d be an awful joke on me if 
you was just a butter-in up here, like I am. You 
couldn’t do nothing for me at all then, could you? ” 

Stoddard felt his face flush as he met her clear 
gray eyes. Almost he yielded to the impulse to tell 
her bluntly the exact situation, yet he held back. 

“Want to do a little exploring?” he asked. 
“ I’d like to make a trip around this island my- 
self.” 

“ I’ll show you the way,” she said eagerly and not 
a little proudly. “ I’ve been over it.” 

He marveled somewhat at the ease with which 
Sadie made progress over the uneven rocks along the 
shore of their island. Already she seemed to be ad- 
justed to her environment, save for the occasional 


SADIE FINDS SHE’S RICH 165 

hampering of her movements by a skirt that con- 
formed to modern fashion. It was evident she was 
not easily fatigued, for she led the way at a brisk 
pace and suffered from no shortness of breath. 

Arrived at a point near the farther end of the 
island, Stoddard diverged from their course along 
the shore and struck the woods for the distance of a 
few yards. Then he called to her. 

“ Here’s where there’s been a camp,” he explained 
as Sadie reached his side. 

“ I went right by it and never noticed,” she said 
as she glanced about her with curious eyes. 

There was not much to look at. The blackened 
stones of a fireplace occupied the center of a small 
clearing. There were a couple of benches, made 
from saplings nailed across convenient trees, and a 
table of like workmanship, its top composed of bark 
strips. 

A cupboard was represented by a wooden box 
fastened to a tree. There was a litter of rusted tin 
cans near by and a few sticks of split wood. 

“ Tin canners,” said Stoddard contemptuously. 

“ Meaning — ” 

This was a phrase of Sadie’s equivalent to a re- 
quest for explanation of something she did not un- 
derstand. 

“ Campers who carry a mess of canned stuff with 
them and are too lazy to throw the cans overboard,” 
he enlightened her. 

“ Slack housekeepers,” she said with a nod. 

“ That’s it. A man ought to keep the woods as 
clean as he would his own house.” 


1 66 


MISTER 44 ” 


“ Cleaner,” declared Sadie emphatically. 
“ ’Cause the Lord made ’em.” 

“ Hunt around a bit and see what you can find,” 
he advised. “ Perhaps this time we’ll be glad they 
didn’t clean up.” 

It was Sadie who announced the first important 
discovery. Instinctively she made straight for the 
cupboard. The contents of a half-emptied jar of 
jam were moldy and spoiled, but in a covered tin 
box she found crackers. Her shout of triumph 
brought Stoddard to her side. 

The box was a third full. Sadie gazed into its 
contents longingly. 

“ Can I have one? ” she asked. 

He did not know whether her question was amus- 
ing or pathetic. She was dreadfully hungry, but 
with food in her hands she would not eat until “ the 
boss ” accorded his permission. For to Sadie, 
Stoddard was her new boss, whom she was ready to 
obey without question. 

“ Why, you poor kid ! ” he exclaimed. “ Eat as 
many as you want,” 

It was the first time since she had been big that 
anybody had called Sadie a “ kid.” Back in Buffalo 
she would have regarded such a form of address 
with derision and probably some resentment. 

But from this giant who had suddenly become her 
protector and guardian in a strange land, she ac- 
cepted it with complacency. It took a full-sized 
man to call her a kid, so she knew there was no 
possible opprobrium in it. 

“ I’ll count ’em first,” she said. 


SADIE FINDS SHE’S RICH 167 

A moment later she announced that there were 
twenty-seven crackers. 

“ Half of ’em are yours and half mine,” she went 
on. “ We’ll divide the odd one. I’m goin’ to eat 
three now. Neither of us must lose count. How 
many are you goin’ to eat? ” 

“ Oh, about half a dozen.” 

“ My ! That’ll only leave you seven and a half. 
Can’t you do with four? ” 

“ All right,” he laughed. “ Give me four. 
You’re in charge of the cracker commissariat.” 

Sadie counted four crackers into his hand and 
three into her own, and carefully replaced the lid on 
the box. 

“ We’ve got to be as savin’ as we can,” she said, 
shaking her head seriously, “ the way you was with 
the chocolate. I ain’t seen no quick lunches around 
here yet.” 

Stoddard continued his hunt about the camp, oc- 
casionally picking up and treasuring bits of twine. 
A lard-pail with a wire handle became the reposi- 
tory of his findings. Sadie, still hovering about the 
cupboard, discovered a rusty file in a crevice. Stod- 
dard added it to his collection. 

“ Now look for fish-hooks,” he directed. 

“ Where? ” 

“ In the trees.” 

“ Foolin’ me? ” she asked reproachfully. 

“ No; I mean it. Some campers have a habit of 
sticking fish-hooks in the bark around camp and for- 
getting to take them when they pack up.” 

When, a moment later, Sadie whooped joyfully, 


1 68 


MISTER 44 


he knew that her sharp eyes had made a successful 
search. She ran to him with a pair of hooks at- 
tached to a gut leader. 

“ I thought so, from the look of the place,” he 
remarked. “ A lot of these people throw away 
more outfit than they use. They ought to have 
nurses instead of guides.” 

“ It ain’t for us to knock ’em, No. 44. We ought 
to be passin’ resolutions and votin’ thanks. They’ve 
even fed us. What! You’ve et your crackers al- 
ready? I’m lingerin’ over mine. You’ll be beggin’ 
for a bite in a minute.” 

To herself Sadie added: 

“ And he’ll get it, too.” 

“ Well, let’s go on,” he said after a final look 
around. “ We’ll come back if we need anything 
else.” 

“ It’s a regular notion-counter,” she affirmed. 
“ Say, this is some island, ain’t it? Tell me some- 
thing else to find.” 

“ Bugs.” 

“ Ugh! What for?” 

“ Bait.” 

“ I ain’t strong for bugs,” she sighed. “ But tell 
me where to look for them.” 

As they followed the shore-line Stoddard indi- 
cated possible bug-haunts under loose stones near 
the water’s edge. Between them they achieved the 
capture of three hellgrammites by the time they had 
completed a circuit of the island. 

“ If we only had the shrimp here we could use 


SADIE FINDS SHE’S RICH 169 

him, too,” observed Sadie. “ He’s a grand size to 
go on one of them hooks.” 

Stoddard laughed. 

u Your antipathy to littleness seems rather re- 
lentless, Sadie. I’m afraid you won’t like my friend 
Larry.” 

“ How big is he? ” she demanded. 

He indicated the approximate altitude of Living- 
ston. 

“ That’s a little more ’n a shrimp,” she said 
judicially. “ I’d say he was a peewee. But if he’s 
a friend of yours I might stretch him into a spar- 
row. That’s a little bigger yet. But it’s a cinch he 
ain’t a man, No. 44.” 

“ Whatever he is I’ll bet he’s worried. If John 
— that’s the Indian — isn’t with him he’s crazy. 
Put Larry alone with all our outfit and he’s worse 
off than we are with nothing.” 

“Nothing! ” she echoed. “ I think we got lots. 
I guess you ain’t as thankful as you ought to be.” 

“ Perhaps I’ve had things too easy.” 

“ I wouldn’t say you’d had things easy, exactly,” 
she mused, studying him with frank eyes. “ I judge 
maybe you could have ’em easy if you wanted to, 
but that you don’t take ’em that way. Are you 
rich, No. 44? ” 

“ No. My folks are pretty well off, I suppose.” 

“ But you work? ” 

“ Oh, yes.” 

“ But if you didn’t want to work, you wouldn’t 
have to? ” 


170 


MISTER 44 ” 


“ They’d take care of me, I imagine.” 

Sadie nodded. 

“ That’s about the way I figured it,” she said. 
“ You can take it easy, but you don’t want to. 
You’re all right, No. 44. I guess you’re more 
thankful than you’re lettin’ on.” 

While he trimmed a rough fishing-rod with his 
knife Sadie sat at a little distance and watched him. 
She noted every detail of him, even to the rent in 
the shoulder of his olive-drab shirt and the tiny holes 
in the soles of his hunting-boots, where hobnails had 
been torn loose by rocks. He was unkempt and un- 
shaven, and his big arms, bared to the elbows, were 
a mass of cuts and scratches. 

“And he’s rich!” she murmured. “Think of 
findin’ a rich man — here ! ” 

Her glance wandered to the lake, where white- 
crested waves glistened in the sun; then to the dark 
greens and browns of the forest, where tufts of 
yellow and flaming red were the outposts of early 
autumn. She closed her eyes for a moment, and 
her mind carried her back to the packing-room, 
where there were thousands and thousands of shirts 
and tired girls and stifling air and endless order-slips 
— and the Shrimp. With a little shudder the vision 
fled from her as she looked again upon her out- 
doors. 

“ Rich! ” she repeated softly. “ Why, I’m rich, 
too!” 


CHAPTER XII 


CASTAWAYS 

I T was not Sadie who caught the first fish, a 
fact that caused her tremendous chagrin. At 
her eager solicitation Stoddard allowed her to 
make the first try, which she bungled shockingly. 

It was not the loss of the fish so much as the havoc 
played with their outfit that counted. Sadie man- 
aged to lose one of the precious hooks, all of the 
gut leader, half of the line, and the choicest of the 
trio of hellgrammites, in addition to a bass that 
promised a square meal for two hungry castaways. 

There had come a savage jerk at the line after she 
had patiently tended it for half an hour without so 
much as a nibble. With a yell of triumph Sadie’s 
strong arms yanked the pole skyward and backward, 
making it fairly whistle through the air. The bass 
remained in the lake, along with the equipment 
enumerated. 

Seemingly on the verge of tears, she looked at 
Stoddard. 

“ I done something wrong,” she said miserably. 
“What was it?” 

“ You struck too quickly,” he explained. “ The 
tackle wouldn’t stand it, even if the fish’s mouth 
did.” 


172 


MISTER 44 ” 


She surveyed the wreckage with troubled eyes. 
Then she thrust the sapling that served as a rod into 
his hands. 

“ You take it. I oughta known better. You can 
fine me out of that fourteen. It’s cornin’ to me.” 

“ It wasn’t your fault really, Sadie. It’s largely 
the tackle. That knotted string isn’t as strong as a 
regular line, and there’s mighty little spring in the 
pole. I can see we’ve got to handle it gently.” 

He had sufficient string to knot together a new 
line, and to this he fastened the remaining hook. 

“ I had the best bug, too,” commented Sadie rue- 
fully, as she watched him select a second victim for 
scientific empalement. 

It seemed that at least another half-hour had 
elapsed before the end of the rod bobbed sharply. 
Sadie uttered a little cry of excitement. Stoddard 
was excited, too, but sternly repressed his eagerness 
to get that fish ashore instantaneously. It was too 
serious a business to be trifled with. 

He managed to check the first rush without snap- 
ping the line; that gave him encouragement. To 
apply gradual restraint to a determined bass, with 
an outfit consisting merely of a sapling and twelve 
feet of none too reliable string, is a task for a fisher- 
man even more skillful than was Stoddard. But he 
concentrated upon it. 

“ Shut up ! ” he commanded shortly, when a series 
of little squeals from Sadie vibrated through the air. 
Whereupon Sadie watched the struggle in silence. 

Several times Stoddard nearly slipped from the 
rock in his efforts to afford his captive every bit of 


CASTAWAYS 


173 


running-room that the limits of the tackle would 
permit. Back and forth the string cut across the 
water. Twice the fish jumped, but the hook held. 

Even after the struggles became intermittent and 
weak, Stoddard did not dare to risk a lift from the 
water. 

“ Get down on that flat rock over there,” he or- 
dered. “ I’ll lead him to you.” 

Sadie scrambled to the chosen spot and waited, 
scarcely venturing to breathe. 

Once Stoddard had the fish within a yard of her 
outstretched hands, only to be compelled to yield 
rein for a renewed struggle. Then he began again 
to urge his prey gently toward the shore. Slowly 
and protestingly into the shallow water came an ob- 
ject that was to Sadie altogether the most desirable 
treasure her eyes had ever seen. It still struggled 
faintly and the line was ominously taut. 

“ Get both hands on it when I say the word,” she 
heard Stoddard saying. 

It was less than a foot from the tips of her fingers 
now, lying on its side in a few inches of water. He 
tried to urge it nearer, but the tension on the sapling 
warned him. 

“Now! ” 

Sadie flung herself upon the fish with startling 
swiftness. There were a splash and a commotion 
in the shallows at the foot of the rock. A second 
later she arose, hugging an object to her breast. 

“ I got wet again, but I don’t care ! ” she shouted 
joyously. 

She did not release her clutch upon the captive 


174 


“ MISTER 44 ” 


until she was yards away from the edge of the water, 
and even then Stoddard had to pry her fingers loose. 

“ You’re the original human landing-net, Sadie,” 
he assured her as he viewed the prize at their feet. 

“Didido all right?” 

“Great! Only I didn’t know you were going 
overboard after it.” 

“ I ain’t much wet,” she said,, viewing her dress. 
“ There’s only a little water down there. But I 
wouldn’t ’ve lost that fish if it meant divin’ to the 
bottom for it. Is it good to eat? ” 

“ It’s a bass. You wait.” 

But before Stoddard made any culinary prepara- 
tions he tried the fishing again. Their third bug 
was lost with no result after a quarter of an hour’s 
angling and, while Sadie went to hunt for more, he 
made their single catch ready for cooking. 

The fire started the night before had not been 
allowed to die, for wood was plenty, while matches 
were not. Consequently there was a fine bed of 
ashes, overlaid with glowing embers. Stoddard did 
not skin his bass, but, after cleaning it, proceeded to 
plaster it over with clay. The clay was not entirely 
suitable to his purpose, but he made the best of it. 

Sadie, who had returned with additional bugs, 
watched the proceedings in silence, but no single 
detail escaped her. Just what No. 44 was going to 
do with that fish she did not know; but she knew 
that, in any event, it would be right. 

Having applied a protective covering nearly an 
inch thick, Stoddard scraped out a cavity in the bed 
of fire and carefully deposited the fish within it. 


CASTAWAYS 


i75 

Then he raked ashes and hot coals over the hole and 
added some fresh sticks to the blaze. 

“ So that’s what to do when you ain’t got pots and 
pans,” she remarked in admiration. 

“ Sometimes you do it, anyhow, Sadie, from 
preference. Only you’ll have to eat this fish without 
pepper or salt or butter.” 

“ There you go again,” she reproved. “ You 
mustn’t talk about what you ain’t get when you’ve 
got enough. By and by you’ll be complainin’ be- 
cause there ain’t no waiter here to pass things.” 

Whether to eat the whole fish or save part of it 
for a future meal became a subject of animated de- 
bate when Stoddard gingerly raked it out of the fire. 
Sadie, now impressed with the wisdom of a policy 
of conservation, was for keeping half, while Stod- 
dard, confident of their ability to catch another, 
favored a full-sized meal. 

She yielded to temptation, however, when he 
chipped away the baked clay and stripped off the 
skin on the upper side of the bass. The present out- 
weighed the future. They ate the whole of it. 

The afternoon brought a round of duties. Their 
camp was still a make-shift; Stoddard set about the 
task of providing some comforts. 

A little lean-to for Sadie was his first achieve- 
ment. It was no easy work to cut saplings with a 
knife, but he persisted until he had secured sufficient 
to form a framework for the shelter. It rose no 
higher than four feet above the ground in front, 
tapering off to nothing in the rear. 

Sadie helped to gather balsam for the roof and 


MISTER 44 


176 

handed him the boughs one by one as he thatched it 
thickly. The little house, as she called it, aroused 
her unbounded enthusiasm, and also filled her with a 
sense of possession that delighted her because it was 
so new and unfamiliar. A foot deep he piled the 
balsam-bed after rolling a log across the entrance to 
hold the boughs securely in place. 

This finished, they began to gather fire-wood. 
Sadie carried it by the armful, heedless of scratches 
on her arms and damage to her clothes. She was 
eager to be doing something, and tireless. Stod- 
dard dragged heavy logs from where they had fallen 
in the woods and added them to their store. They 
could afford to be prodigal in fuel, for the island was 
generous. 

This labor ended, he allowed himself a pipeful of 
tobacco and resumed fishing. He also found leisure 
to do some thinking, an occupation which, however, 
brought him no particular satisfaction nor ease of 
mind. True, they were doing finely so far as im- 
mediate needs were concerned; but beyond that their 
situation was wrapped in the haze of uncertainty. 

Sadie, too, was thinking, but wholly of the present. 
Her imagination had been swept from its moorings 
by this sudden plunge into the heart of her great 
outdoors, and it was carrying her onward with be- 
wildering and beguiling allurements. Hardship, 
privation, possible starvation played no part in any 
of her wonderful visions. 

“ See here, Sadie ! ” said Stoddard suddenly. 
“ Have you done any figuring as to what’s likely to 
happen to us? ” 


CASTAWAYS 


177 

“ Why, no,” she answered slowly. “ Anything 
bad goin’ to happen? ” 

“Not necessarily; in fact, not even probably. 
But I mean, have you thought about how we’re go- 
ing to get off this island? ” 

“ Now you speak of it, I don’t think I’ve thought 
of it for a minute. Will it be any trouble? Won’t 
somebody come and get us? ” 

“Who, for instance?” he inquired. 

“ Maybe your camp-mate, Mr. Livingston, 
might.” 

“ He hasn’t the least idea what’s become of me. 
The last he saw or heard of me I was on our own 
island back in the Northeast Arm.” 

“Well, he can begin tracin’ you, can’t he? He 
knows you started for the railroad first.” 

“ No; he doesn’t.” 

“ Didn’t—” 

Sadie hesitated. Stoddard waited. 

“ Didn’t he know you were goin’ to meet me? ” 

“ He never heard of you, Sadie.” 

She devoted a minute to readjusting her thoughts. 

“ I just sort of took it for granted you told him,” 
she said. 

It was difficult to explain to Sadie just why he had 
not informed Larry Livingston of the letter found 
in a pocket and the events to which it led; it was 
impossible, in fact. 

“ Well, you see, Sadie, it was just a private busi- 
ness matter between you and me,” he said after a 
pause. “ I didn’t feel I had a right to show him 
your correspondence. . There was nothing for him 


i 7 8 “ MISTER 44 ” 

to do about it, anyhow; it was my affair. So I said 
nothing.” 

“ I understand,” she nodded. 

This respect for the privacy of her correspondence 
pleased her. She did not dream that there might be 
other reasons. 

“ Larry knows nothing,” Stoddard went on. 
“ John — the Indian — knows that I mailed a letter 
and received a telegram. That’s as far as his in- 
formation goes. 

“ Billy Mason, the station-master, knows I was at 
Deepwater yesterday evening, and that — Well, 
that’s all he knows. 

“ The conductor of the train you came on knows 
that you got off at the lower station and that he in- 
formed me of that fact. But where I went and what 
I did after I left Deepwater Station not a soul knows 
except you.” 

“ Just like you’d dropped off the earth,” she com- 
mented. 

“ Exactly. All Larry and John know is that I did 
not return to camp. Larry will have no theory 
whatever. John, because he knows I received a 
telegram, is likely to conclude that I must have left 
Deepwater by train on some urgent business. So 
he’s not likely to look for me.” 

“ Go ahead,” said Sadie. 

“ I’m just telling you the situation because you 
asked me not to hold anything out.” 

“ That’s right, No. 44. Say it all.” 

“ Well, to sum it up, not a soul has seen either you 
or me since dark last night. Nobody knows we 


CASTAWAYS 


179 


started for the hotel; nobody knows what happened. 
Nobody has any reason to look for us, except Larry, 
perhaps, who doesn’t know where to look; while no- 
body has the least idea where to look, even if they 
wanted to.” 

Sadie had been indicating her complete grasp of 
the situation by a series of nods. 

“ That’s one end of it,” he continued. “ Here’s 
another: Pickerel Bay is off the line of travel here- 
abouts. Campers wander in here occasionally, but 
the guides never suggest it. It’s not considered a 
particularly good place for fishing, which is what 
most of the campers want. The islands in other 
parts of the lake are much more comfortable for 
general purposes. 

“ This camp we found has been vacant for at least 
a month. I don’t see any signs of others on any of 
the islands near-by. All of which means we are not 
very likely to have visitors.” 

“ Well, it ain’t as if we were lonesome,” she ob- 
served gravely. “ I ain’t, anyhow.” 

“ So it leads up to another proposition,” he said, 
appearing not to notice her comment. “ If we’re 
going to get off this island we must do the job our- 
selves. To get from an island to the shore means a 
boat. We have none. 

“ The nearest piece of land to us is about three- 
quarters of a mile, and that’s another island. Fur- 
thermore, it’s in the wrong direction. It’s true that 
we might manage to swim to it. But we wouldn’t 
be any better off after reaching it than we are now 7 .” 

“ We won’t swim,” said Sadie decisively. 


i 8 o 


MISTER 44 ” 


“ You’ve probably noticed it’s still blowing almost 
as hard as last night, although it’s clear. That 
means no boats out on the lake to-day, except the 
launches that run from the station down to the hotel, 
and they don’t come within sight of us.” 

“ Well? ” she asked when he paused. 

“ Well, now you know the situation; that’s all.” 

“ But what’s the answer? ” 

“ That’s what I wish you’d tell me. I don’t know 
the answer.” 

Sadie considered the case for several minutes; 
then shrugged her shoulders and smiled cheerfully. 

“ It is sort of a puzzle,” she admitted. “ But 
nothin’ to worry about, I guess. You’ll get the an- 
swer by and by. We’ll both try to think one out. 

“ We got twenty crackers left, and half a cake of 
chocolate, and we’ll catch more fish. We got plenty 
of water to drink. We don’t need to eat again to- 
day after that feed we had. Why, I think we’re 
fixed fine ! ” 

“ Shake, Sadie ! You’re a good sport, and you’re 
game. Of course we’re bound to get out of here. 
But I wanted you to know all the facts.” 

Sadie was flushing with gratification. She had 
been hoping she was a good sport. 

The taking of another fish served as an abrupt 
interruption to idle speculations. It was not a large 
bass, but Sadie was as ardent for its capture as if it 
were the leviathan of them all. She pounced upon 
it hawklike when it had been drawn into the shal- 
lows, heedless of the viciously erected dorsal fin. 

When biting ceased at the spot opposite their 


CASTAWAYS 


1 8 1 


camp Stoddard moved along the shore, trying other 
places that seemed likely to yield prey. Sadie fol- 
lowed, occasionally rambling a little distance into 
the woods. 

She loved to explore. She wanted to learn, too. 
Usually she returned with specimens gathered from 
shrubs and bushes and mossy retreats. Stoddard 
knew most of them, and she put the names away 
in her faithful memory with a sense of new knowl- 
edge. 

They had gone nearly the length of their island, 
and Stoddard was intent on the effort to coax a 
nibble into a well-developed bite when he heard a 
scream from Sadie. 

Dropping his rod, he scrambled up the rocks and 
broke through the brush in the direction of the 
sound. Sadie, running as fast as her skirts would 
allow, met him half-way. She was breathless; her 
eyes were wide with excitement. 

“ A bear! ” she gasped. 

“ What!” 

“ A bear! I seen it ! ” 

“Nonsense! Wait a minute now. Get your 
breath.” 

But Sadie would not wait until she had recovered 
from her panting. 

“ I tell you it was a bear ! ” 

“How big?” 

“ I don’t know. But it was a bear.” 

“ Where was it? ” 

“ I went back up to where that old camp is,” she 
blurted between gasps. “ The place where we 


182 


“ MISTER 44 


found the crackers. I was just lookin’ around 
again. And then I heard something. And then I 
seen it ! ” 

“ And what was it doing? ” 

“ It was lookin’ at me ! ” 

“ I don’t blame it,” said Stoddard lightly. 

He was more than skeptical of Sadie’s story. 
Bears were uncommon and shy in the Deepwater and 
they did not prefer small islands. He believed that 
Sadie might have seen a shadow. 

“ Did it move? ” he inquired, checking a smile. 

“ I didn’t wait. I moved. But it had eyes.” 

“ Let’s see if we can find it.” 

“Will it hurt us?” 

“ It ’ll probably be glad to see us. Come on and 
show me where it was.” 

Reluctantly she followed him. She knew very 
well she had seen a bear, and bears were animals 
that Sadie instinctively classed with lions and tigers 
in their undesirability as neighbors. As Stoddard 
neared the old camp-site he moved cautiously. If 
anything should happen to be there, he did not want 
to frighten it away. 

The long shadows of late afternoon filled the 
woods. At the edge of the clearing he stood for a 
minute until his eyes were fully accustomed to the 
dimming light. Then, as his glance followed the 
direction of Sadie’s arm, which was thrust over his 
shoulder, he saw that something did move ! 

It was near one of the rude benches. If it saw 
him it betrayed no evidence of alarm. Sadie was 
beginning to pant again; Stoddard could feel her 


CASTAWAYS 183 

breath on his cheek. For a few seconds he studied 
the object; then nodded to himself. 

Now he glanced over the ground near his feet, 
searching for something. A couple of yards from 
him lay a stout split stick. He stepped forward 
softly and stooped until his fingers clutched it. 
Then he crossed the clearing on a run. 

Sadie stood horrified. How could a man fight a 
bear with a stick? Surely No. 44 was dashing into 
the jaws of death! She saw the club raised over 
his head and saw it descend swiftly. It fell upon 
something with a muffled, soft concussion. Again it 
rose and fell; then several times in rapid succession. 
She saw him deliver a mighty kick at a convulsively 
squirming body, which drove it several feet toward 
the center of the clearing. After that he began 
beating it again until it lay quite still. 

When he seemed satisfied with his work he looked 
up and beckoned to her. With hesitating footsteps 
she went to him, her glance still riveted upon the 
thing that lay on the ground. 

“ You killed it ! ” she whispered. “ Killed a bear 
with a stick! ” 

Stoddard was grinning at her. 

“ Porcupine,” was all he said. 

Sadie felt suddenly foolish. She knew nothing 
of porcupines, though she had an idea that they were 
infinitely lower in the scale of ferocity than bears. 
At any rate, she had never heard of a porcupine 
killing anybody. 

“Is it another laugh on me?” she asked, crest- 
fallen. 


1 84 “MISTER 44 ” 

“ Not at all. You made a real discovery. Only 
it’s not a bear.” 

He turned over the animal with his foot. Sadie 
bent to examine it. 

“ Rather tough to beat a poor porcupine to death 
with a club,” he declared. “ But we needed him.” 

“You mean to say it’s any good?” she asked, 
looking up from her inspection. 

“ It can be eaten.” 

“ Honest?” 

“ Some of them can, at any rate. The young 
ones are all right. I’m not sure about this boy, but 
we’ll have a try at him. He’s big and he’s old, and 
he’s probably as tough as walrus-hide. But we’ll 
know more about that later. The main thing is to 
get him to camp.” 

“ I’ll help you carry it,” she said readily, all hesi- 
tation having vanished in the discovery that no bear 
dwelt upon their island. 

“ Keep your hands off him; he’s full of quills like 
needles. I’ll have to drag him.” 

He unbuckled the leather strap that served him 
for a belt, passed it around the neck of Sadie’s 
“ bear,” and drew it taut. Then, dragging the 
creature behind him, he led the way for their camp. 

The removal of a porcupine’s hide is a task to be 
performed with caution if the hunter has a proper 
regard for his fingers. Accomplishing it after much 
labor, Stoddard began to slice strips of meat from 
the carcass. 

“He’s tough, all right,” he commented. “You 
might fill that lard-pail with water, Sadie.” 


CASTAWAYS 


185 

Later, when the pail had been suspended across 
their fire on a green stick and Stoddard had dropped 
a number of pieces of meat into it, he explained that 
an indefinite amount of parboiling was the first step 
toward eating porcupine of advanced age. Sadie 
agreed with him when, after an hour of parboiling 
and several minutes of roasting over the flames, she 
attempted to set her teeth in a juicy strip. 

“ It chews like an automobile-tire,” she observed. 
“ Keep it boilin’, No. 44.” 

Long after dark the contents of the pail were still 
simmering. 

“ We’ll try it again in the morning,” yawned 
Stoddard. 

The wind had died with the day; the trees above 
them stood motionless. There was a peaceful 
somnolence about the island that stole into the minds 
of the castaways. They were indolent and content. 
There was nothing to live for but the moment. To- 
morrow would be another day; it could take care 
of itself. 

The subtle mesmerism of the big outdoors had 
placed its spell upon them. They asked nothing, 
wanted nothing. Everything worth having was 
theirs. 

Stoddard had fallen asleep by the fire when Sadie 
stole softly into the little shelter he had built for 
her. She knelt for a moment on the balsam-boughs, 
her head bowed, her lips faintly moving. Then as 
she lay down with a comfortable sigh she murmured : 

“ That was twice, because I forgot ’em last night. 
And I put him in ! ” 


CHAPTER XIII 

‘ US FOR A RAFT 1 ’ 


S TODDARD went swimming at dawn. 
When he tiptoed out of camp and made his 
way toward the farther end of the island he 
chuckled at having repeated Sadie’s trick of the day 
before. He did not know she was watching him 
through half-closed eyelids, feigning sleep. As he 
disappeared from view she smiled. 

“ No. 44 thinks he’s puttin’ something over,” she 
murmured. “ I guess he gets tired havin’ a woman 
hangin’ around all the time. I would if I was him.” 

She settled herself contentedly for another nap. 
Her mind would not have been so peaceful had she 
known that he would soon be rolling luxuriously in 
water ten times over his head. 

There is no chill in the Deepwater in early Sep- 
tember. It has been storing warmth from the sun 
the summer long and has not yet begun to yield back 
that which it has put by. The cold water has settled 
to the depths and the big fish have followed it, 
whence they are to be taken only by the angler whose 
line runs far below the surface; above, the summer 
has been preparing the swimmer’s bath. 

Stoddard struck far from the shore in his morn- 
ing revel. The touch of the water thrilled him. 
1 86 


US FOR A RAFT! 


He felt that he could swim on and on the day long 
if he chose. Time and again he plunged his head 
beneath the mirror-like surface, fairly wallowing in 
the crystal medium that sustained him. Then he 
would lift it, shake the shining drops from his hair, 
and dash forward with mighty overhand strokes as 
if there were a goal to be reached. 

All the boy of him was awake. Sometimes he 
dived, swimming swiftly beneath the surface, to rise 
again twenty or thirty yards distant. This was 
“ playing loon.” Again he lay upon his back and 
thrashed the lake furiously with his arms and legs 
until forced to rest from sheer want of breath. 
Then he would float, staring at the blue sky. 

No longer was he pent-up, marooned, on a lonely 
island; he felt free again; he could go where he 
willed. In truth, had it not been for the girl in the 
camp Stoddard would have given no thought to turn- 
ing back. He would have laughed at his prison and 
left it to its solitude in the mists of the morning. 

Reluctantly he doubled on his course and swam 
lazily back toward the point from which he had 
dived; still more grudgingly did he draw his dripping 
body from the sunlit water. At his feet he could 
see far down among the rocks, where the bass lurked 
in the shadows in the heat of the afternoons. He 
wanted to plunge again and explore. Oh, for a day 
in the wonder-lagoon of “ The Coral Island,” with 
Ralph Rover, Peterkin, and Jack! 

He dressed slowly and followed the shore back to 
camp. Sadie had risen and was sitting on a rock 
down by the water, trying to comb her bronze aurora 


1 8 8 


“ MISTER 44 ” 

with her fingers. As she drew heavy strands of it 
across the sunlight it flamed gorgeously, until it 
seemed to give forth a light of its own. 

Stoddard, softly approaching, halted for a little 
and watched with eyes that marveled. 

“She’s wonderful!” he whispered. “And she 
comes from a factory! I don’t believe it. It can’t 
be true ! Why, it’s impossible ! It’s easier to be- 
lieve she has stepped out of some ancient legend.” 

His musing was interrupted when Sadie turned 
suddenly, as if feeling his presence through a sixth 
sense. 

“ ’Mornin’ ! ” she called gaily. “ I ain’t seen 
that comb you was goin’ to make me.” 

The spell was shattered. Somehow the breaking 
of it hurt; it filled him with vague sensations of an- 
noyance and pity. He wondered if she was doomed 
forever to speech like that. Kitty and Estelle talked 
differently; they were “ educated.” Would this 
splendid creature never be permitted to talk as they 
talked? 

No; he did not mean that either. His Fifth 
Avenue friends, Kitty Fitch and Estelle Wallace, 
talked much foolishness and shallowness ; they 
purred comfortably and quite contentedly about the 
feathery things that floated on the surface of life. 
He did not want Sadie to do that; he knew she could 
not, for her mind reached into the quiet depths. 
The soul in her was strong and brave and wise. 
But — if only some magic would touch it and give it 
speech ! 


“US FOR A RAFT! ” 189 

“ Your hair’s all wet,” she observed as he stood 
staring at hers. 

“ I’ve been swimming.” 

“ O-o-oh! It was fine, I bet.” 

“ I almost hated to come back,” he confessed. 
“ I just wanted to go on forever.” 

“ And how far did you go? ” 

“ Oh, a quarter or a third of a mile, perhaps.” 

“ Straight out from shore? ” 

He nodded. Sadie frowned and her face became 
suddenly grave. 

“ You mustn’t do that, No. 44,” she said. 

“Why not?” 

“ Suppose anything happened to you? ” 

“ But nothing could happen.” 

“ It might,” she said, unconvinced. “ Then I’d 
be in a nice fix.” 

Just why she added the last sentence she was not 
clear in her mind. It did not carry the real reason 
for her anxiety. It was not her plight that would 
disturb her if anything happened to him; it would be 
the plight of No. 44 himself. 

Perhaps the explanation slipped from her in a 
moment of purely feminine evasion; it seemed to 
come automatically, to cloak a thought that her lips 
were too shy to utter. 

“ I’m always careful, Sadie,” he answered. “ I 
don’t take chances just for the fun of it.” 

“ Well, I’ll let it go this time,” she said solemnly. 

A few seconds later she burst into laughter. 

“ I was just tryin’ how it sounded to boss some- 


190 


MISTER 44 


body,” she explained, her gray eyes animated with 
amusement. “ I ain’t ever had a chance at that. 
I’ve always been bossed myself. Of course I can’t 
really boss you. I bet nobody can.” 

“ I’m not so sure, Sadie.” 

“ I am. You’re one of the bosses yourself. You 
boss me.” 

“ I don’t mean to.” 

“ Yes, you do, No. 44. You bossed me out there 
in the water; you boss me here on the island. You 
bossed me yesterday when — ” 

“ I’m sorry,” he broke in. “ You must stop me 
whenever I start.” 

“ Stop nothing! ” exclaimed Sadie. “ I wouldn’t 
stop you. Why, I onghta be bossed! Suppose I 
hadn’t took orders from you night before last. 
Where ’d I be now? Drownded — like my ward- 
robe. 

“ No; you just got to boss me! I need it. You 
mustn’t think I mind. Not a bit! Why, I like it! 
That is, I like bein’ bossed when — ” 

She hesitated, undecided whether she ought to say 
it. As a result of the pause, she compromised. 

“ — when I ain’t gettin’ orders from the Shrimp.” 

“He’s absolutely barred, is he?” 

“Forever and amen! Why, No. 44, when I 
think of what I’ve took from him I could just jump 
out into the middle of that water. I get ashamed 
of myself. Of course I talked back. But that 
didn’t really count. I had to do what he told me. 

“ It wasn’t what he told me, either; I didn’t mind 
doin’ the work. It was because the bossin’ come 


US FOR A RAFT! 


from him. I never stood for much since when I 
was in school.” 

Stoddard contemplated her for a moment before 
he spoke. 

“You went to school — back in Ohio? ” he sug- 
gested. 

“ Uh-huh. It’s a good while back, too. I was 
through with that before I was fourteen. I’ve been 
workin’ since.” Sadie wound a strand of her hair 
round one finger. 

“ I want to ask you something,” §he said after a 
little. 

“ Go ahead.” 

“ Will you answer straight? ” 

“ I’ll try to.” 

“ Do I talk very bad, No. 44? ” 

She almost whispered the question. 

“ I don’t think you talk badly at all, Sadie.” 

“ That’s not answerin’ straight,” she said, look- 
ing up at him. “ You promised.” 

“ I think you talk a lot of sense,” said Stoddard 
hastily. “ Truly I do.” 

“ That might be,” she assented. “ Sometimes 
I’m sensible, I know. But I mean, the way I say 
it?” 

“ Every person talks in his own way,” he tem- 
porized. 

She shook her head and twisted another strand 
of hair round another finger. 

“ You don’t want to hurt my feelin’s,” she said. 
“I understand. But it’s like this: I’ve been 
listenin’ to you talk a whole lot, and you and me talk 


i 9 2 “MISTER 44” 

different. It’s because you’re educated and I 
ain’t. 

“ And I guess most of the things I say sound 
pretty awful to you. I noticed you looked at me 
kinda funny once or twice.” 

“ Sadie!” 

Stoddard flushed with mortification. 

“ It’s all right,” she continued calmly. “ Why, 
I can understand. You see, even if I don’t say 
things right, I can ’most always tell when somebody 
else says ’em right. A good deal of the way I talk 
is habit, but not all of it. The rest’s because I’m 
ignorant. 

“ Back in Ohio, before I left the farm, I could 
talk better ’n I do now. But workin’ in the city I 
sort of fell in with talkin’ like the people I worked 
with. None of us had no real education. Back 
there it was all right. Maybe it wasn’t all right 
either ; what I mean is, it was good enough to get by 
with. 

“ It’s a slack way of gettin’ on, of course. You 
get to slangin’ along and by and by you talk that 
way all the time. I never noticed it much till I got 
up here. But now — ” She made a little gesture 
of resignation. 

“ Sadie,” said Stoddard gently, “remember this: 
The most important thing about talking is not how 
you say it, but what you say.” 

She pondered this and nodded slowly. 

“ You said something, then, No. 44, even if it was 
meant to let me out. But then it’s better, when you 
have got something to say, to be able to say it right, 


“US FOR A RAFT! ” 193 

too. Do you guess Fm too old to learn? I’m 
twenty-four.” 

“ We’re never too old to learn anything,” he de- 
clared vehemently. 

“ I suppose I could, if I got my mind onto it,” she 
mused. “ You see, I’d hate to have to always be 
workin’ at some job like packin’ shirts. You got to 
have an education if you want to get good wages. 
Of course, you got to have sense, too, but the educa- 
tion’s part of it — a lot of it. 

“ Some day Fm goin’ to try to begin all over 
again. Fd like to get a job where I could use my 
head. But I ain’t ready for that now. Maybe it ’ll 
be years; I don’t suppose Fll ever get very good at 
it. What sort of a job do you think Fll get up here, 
No. 44? ” 

Thus they were back to the topic that most dis- 
turbed Stoddard. 

“ You see, havin’ interests here,” she added, “ you 
oughta be able to give me a pretty good idea.” 

“ The trouble is, Sadie, you’ll want to be out- 
doors, and I can’t think of any outdoor jobs for 
women right now.” 

“ I wouldn’t expect it to be all outdoors,” she said. 
“ Just so ’s I could feel outdoors was right next to 
me, and I could look at it once in a while and get 
into it after the whistle blew. There ain’t no 
factories here, I suppose?” 

“ I don’t know of any. The trouble is, up to 
date it has been mostly a man’s country. Nearly 
all the women here are tourists.” 

“ I guess that’s right,” she nodded. 


194 


MISTER 44 ” 


“ Would you want to work in the hotel? ” 

Stoddard had not the least idea whether he could 
get Sadie a place in the hotel. He merely grasped 
at the straw. 

“Why, that ’d be all right!” she exclaimed. 
“You mean waitin’ on the table or doin’ washin’? 
I’m strong enough, easy. I’ll tackle anything, No. 
44 — except where they’re lookin’ for education. I 
can’t go that yet.” 

“ I’ll see what I can do at the hotel then, as a 
starter.” 

“ It’ll be a cinch for you,” she declared con- 
fidently. “ They won’t turn you down ! They can’t 
afford to turn down people with big interests.” 

Stoddard stirred uneasily. He felt himself slip- 
ping deeper into the mire of misunderstanding. He 
did not even know who was managing the hotel; he 
merely knew it had changed hands. As for his “ in- 
terests,” they were mythical in the sense that Sadie 
meant. 

“ Well,” she said, smiling, “ I guess that settles 
the job-question. I’ll go to work in the hotel.” 

In great peace of mind she resumed the combing 
of her hair with her fingers. Stoddard went up to 
the camp, cursing himself, and set about the getting 
of some breakfast. 

The flesh of the aged porcupine after a night of 
simmering over the fire seemed that it might yield 
grudgingly to human teeth. He spiked several 
strips of it on green sticks and set them over the 
embers to broil. 


“US FOR A RAFT! ” 


195 


After he had scrubbed their lard-pail with sand, 
Stoddard proceeded to put it to another culinary use. 
When he called Sadie to breakfast a surprise awaited 
her. 

Hot chocolate! 

She clapped her hands in wonder. 

“ It’s a little weak,” he apologized, “ because I 
used only half of what was left. But it’s better than 
cold water.” 

“It’s grand!” she cried after she had sipped 
gingerly. “ Where’s yours ? ” 

“ We’ll both have to drink out of the pail.” 

The porcupine had one sterling merit — he 
promised to last a long time. It was out of the 
question to chew him rapidly. On the contrary it 
required much perseverance and excellent teeth to 
reduce even one strip of him to the point where it 
could be swallowed. 

But he was meat, fresh and very much like pork, 
and both Stoddard and Sadie were ravenous. They 
drank alternately from the tin pail and had an alto- 
gether gay breakfast. 

“What’s the program?” demanded Sadie after 
she had washed the dishes, an occupation which con- 
sisted of rinsing the tin pail in the lake. 

“ The program is to get off this island,” he replied 
with emphasis. 

“All right. How?” 

“ Well, how does this strike you? I’ll swim over 
to the mainland, resting at one island on the way. 
Once there I’ll go along shore until I come to the 


“ MISTER 44 ” 


196 

entrance to this bay. From there I can see across 
to the hotel on Deepwater Island. I’ll make signals 
with something and get help.” 

Sadie considered this, then shook her head. 

“ You got that idea from goin’ in swimmin’, didn’t 
you?” 

“ Partly.” 

“ You mean to swim as far as that land over 
there? ” she asked, pointing across the water. 

“ That’s not very far.” 

“ No, No. 44; I can’t let you.” 

“ But it’s easy. I’ve often swum twice as far. 
Why, I swam as far as that this morning.” 

“ But just suppose you didn’t make it,” she said. 
“ Just suppose — ” 

Sadie covered her face with her hands for an 
instant. 

“No; nothing like that, No. 44,” she declared 
earnestly. “ I won’t let you. I’m goin’ to do that 
much bossin’.” 

Stoddard shrugged his shoulders. 

“ And besides,” she added, “ how about me? If 
you don’t make it maybe I’m here for the winter. 
I suppose I’d have to hole up like a bear. I never 
tried it, but I bet I ain’t any good at it. Let’s think 
up something else.” 

“ It’s the best chance I can think of,” he said 
grumblingly. “ Of course, if you won’t — ” 

“That’s right; I won’t,” said Sadie. “I just 
can’t!” 

“ But it’s perfectly safe.” 

“ That’s one thing I ain’t goin’ to take your word 


“US FOR A RAFT! 


197 


on,” she replied slowly. “ Maybe I’m silly, but I 
can’t help it. And don’t get mad at me, because — 
Well, because. That’s enough reason.” 

She reached across and patted him on the hand. 

“ There now,” she said soothingly. “ We won’t 
talk about that any more. You wouldn’t leave me 
here alone, No. 44. And I wouldn’t let you! ” 

He laughed a little and drew gently at his pipe. 
It was the next to the last smoke. 

Sadie was experiencing something akin to elation, 
but was careful to repress signs of it. She had 
bossed him ! She was not altogether sure she had a 
right to do it; she freely admitted that in the ways 
of the Deepwater country he knew all, while she 
knew literally nothing. 

If he said he could swim it, he could. But she did 
not want him to go ! She felt that he must not, even 
if it was the only chance. Yes, she would rather 
starve right there on the island — so long as she 
was not starving alone. 

As for Stoddard, he did not put the scheme out 
of his head. He merely laid it aside until Sadie 
might be in a more reasonable or desperate mood. 
One or the other would doubtless make her content 
to let him swim for it, he figured. 

“ You know we went over all the chances yester- 
day,” he observed. “ They’re not any different to- 
day.” 

“ Maybe there’s some we didn’t think of,” she 
said. “ Let’s try and find some more. And it is a 
little different to-day, anyhow. It’s not blowin’.” 
“Well?” 


198 


MISTER 44 ” 


“ You said the blowin’ would keep boats from 
cornin’ out. Now they can get around all right.” 

“ Yes. But I also said it was very unlikely that 
any would be coming into Pickerel Bay.” 

Sadie mused over that for a while. 

“ It seems to me we’ve just got to get a boat of 
our own,” she observed. “ Couldn’t you build 
one?” 

“With a knife?” 

Sadie subsided. She did not think even No. 44 
could do that. And if he could, it sounded like a 
task that would take years. 

They sat in silence for many minutes, Sadie alter- 
nately frowning and shaking her head as she groped 
for ideas and found them elusive. Suddenly she 
sprang up. 

“I got it! ” 

Stoddard regarded her with an amused look. 

“I got it from the movies!” she exclaimed. 
“ Don’t laugh. I got to rememberin’ about two 
shipwrecked folks, a man and a woman. They was 
away off somewheres on a island, where there wasn’t 
any ships likely to come by, only they’d been there 
for months and months, and we’ve been less than 
two days. So what do you suppose the man done? ” 

“ Grew wings,” suggested Stoddard. He knew 
that all things were possible on the flying film. 

“ He built a raft!” 

Sadie stood beaming down upon him. 

“ And they got on the raft and sailed away until a 
ship found ’em,” she added. “ And then — ” 

She stopped suddenly and felt herself growing 


US FOR A RAFT! 


199 


pinker about the throat and cheeks. In the movies 
they had lived happily ever after, she remembered 
very distinctly. 

“ Well, then what? ” he asked. 

“ Then they was saved,” she said primly. 

Stoddard knocked the ashes from his pipe. 

“ Sadie,” he said, rising, “ I believe there’s some- 
thing in that raft idea of yours. Want to try it? ” 

“You bet!” 

“Willing to help?” 

“Am I!” 

“ Then we’ll make believe we’re the movie folks. 
Come on.” 

For an instant Sadie stood in a trance of ecstasy, 
her eyes turned heavenward. 

“ Us for a raft! ” she whispered. “ Glory! ” 


CHAPTER XIV 


RESCUE 

S ADIE insisted that she be allowed to share in 
the heavy work of moving dead logs. Stod- 
dard was obliged to consent, against his in- 
stinctive dislike to see a woman engaged in toil that 
usually falls to the lot of a lumberman. But long 
before the task was over he was glad to have the 
help of her sturdy arms. Without her their raft 
would have lacked more than one substantial timber 
that he, single-handed, could not have moved from 
its resting-place. 

Nor did he find the participation of Sadie in this 
labor so distasteful to his preconceived notions as he 
anticipated. There was something rather mag- 
nificent about it as she bowed her back to the toil. 
Her confident young strength and her ardent will to 
put it forth to the utmost aroused admiration in him 
as well as astonishment. 

He found himself unconsciously pausing in his 
work to watch her. She found joy in the hardest 
tasks and inspiration in a drudgery that would have 
appalled the women of his own world/’ She knew 
that his eyes were often upon her, a fact that spurred 
her; she would prove to him her competence to live 
in the big outdoors. 


200 


RESCUE 


201 


While the heart of the little woods that clothed 
their island yielded some of the material that went 
into the raft, the greater part was found as a result 
of repeated expeditions along the shore, where there 
were dead stumps, branches, and portions of tree- 
trunks, stripped of their bark and dried to the core 
by sun and wind. In the woods the fallen trees were 
apt to be damp and rotted, scarce able to float their 
own weight. 

Their work had to be done with no tool save 
Stoddard’s knife. An ax would have made raft- 
building easy; without it they were forced to use only 
the wood that Nature and the elements had felled ; 
nor could they shape it to their needs. 

Stoddard selected a shallow, sheltered cove as a 
shipyard. Here, frequently waist-deep in the water, 
he began the actual putting together of what Sadie 
had already christened The Ark . It was weary and 
often discouraging work. Such logs as he had 
bristled with knots and jagged branches and would 
not lie evenly together. The dead limbs were often 
small and twisted, and scores of them were needed 
to make up the deficiency of solid timber. 

While he thus labored Sadie combed the woods 
for roots, vines, and green withes that would serve 
to hold their makeshift craft together, for nails and 
rope were denied them. It took a tremendous quan- 
tity of fiber-binding to make The Ark even reason- 
ably secure. Now and then Stoddard would test its 
carrying capacity by climbing upon it, only to shake 
his head as* it dipped from side to side under his 
weight. 


202 


MISTER 44 ” 


Their big timber exhausted, he set Sadie to work 
tying together bundle after bundle of small dry 
twigs. These he thrust underneath the raft to give 
added buoyancy. It was like building a ship out 
of matchwood, but necessity gave Stoddard no choice. 

As the raft grew and he found that it bore his 
own weight easily, he made tests with the added 
weight of Sadie. She was quite willing to wade into 
the water and clamber aboard, but Stoddard saw 
no need of that. Instead he went to the rock where 
she was standing and picked her up in his arms as if 
she were no more than a mite of a girl. 

Sadie uttered an involuntary exclamation of as- 
tonishment as she was thus lifted from her feet and 
borne to the floating platform of The Ark. She 
knew that Stoddard was strong, but this was a dem- 
onstration that filled her with new surprise. Also, 
it brought a flush to her cheeks. For the first time 
in her life she found herself in a man’s arms; in ad- 
dition she was being handled as if she were a veri- 
table baby. 

Placing her in the center of the raft, Stoddard 
climbed up beside her. It rocked ominously; then 
began to settle on one side. Before the water 
reached their feet he leaped off again, picked Sadie 
up and carried her ashore on his shoulder. 

“ More wood,” he told her briefly. 

This made necessary a new expedition along 
shore, where they gathered up material at first con- 
temptuously rejected. Bit by bit they added to 
their craft. Engineer though he was, Stoddard had 
no means of calculating displacement and net ton- 


RESCUE 


203 


nage for The Ark. It was built by rule of thumb, 
and nothing short of actual trial would prove its ca- 
pacity. 

Several times more he transported Sadie to the 
undulating, nondescript platform, always to her se- 
cret delight and wonder. It was with a little sigh 
that she finally received his announcement that The 
Ark would carry them both. 

u Just how it’ll navigate I can’t tell,” he told her. 
“ But it will float anyhow.” 

“ Could we make a sail? ” she asked. 

“ I thought of it. But the best we can do is a 
thatch of balsam-boughs. They may help a little.”. 

Sadie promptly ran back to the camp and began 
dismantling her shelter in order to obtain the ma- 
terial. At one end of the raft Stoddard managed 
to erect a sort of screen, three or four feet in height, 
that would serve to catch a little wind. 

“ If the breeze holds this way we’ll get some bene- 
fit from it,” he said. “ But you mustn’t expect much 
speed.” 

“ I ain’t in a hurry,” she answered. 

In fact, far from being in haste, Sadie found her- 
self, as the time for embarkation approached, de- 
cidedly reluctant to set forth at all. It was not that 
she was timorous concerning the seaworthiness of 
The Ark; she had implicit confidence in it and much 
pride, for it represented her own handiwork as well 
as that of No. 44. But she was reluctant to leave 
their island elysium. She had in truth fallen in 
love with it, and had come to look upon it as some- 
thing that was her very own. 


204 


“ MISTER 44 ” 

“ I hate to quit if,” she confessed to him. “ It’s 
like sayin’ good-by to a friend.” 

“ It was pretty friendly a couple of nights ago,” 
he admitted. “ But we mustn’t outstay our wel- 
come.” 

“ It’s been friendly all the time,” she asserted 
stoutly. “ And some day I’m cornin’ back to it and 
say ‘Hello!’” 

Stoddard paid a visit to the old camp at the 
farther end of the island, returning with the box 
that had been used as a cupboard. This he placed 
upon The Ark as a seat for Sadie. He had also 
picked up a few nails, with which he contrived to fas- 
ten a couple of small boards to the ends of sap- 
lings, which he intended should serve as paddles. 

“ Now for the grub,” he declared. 

The provisioning of The Ark was a trifling task. 
All they possessed were a few strips of porcupine and 
half a dozen treasured crackers. 

“ I’m glad an appetite don’t weigh anything,” ob- 
served Sadie. “ If it did The Ark ’d never hold you 
and me, No. 44.” 

It was midafternoon when Stoddard for the last 
time carried Sadie aboard, seated her upon the box, 
and enjoined her to remain quite still and in no wise 
do anything to disturb the trim of their ragamuffin 
craft. 

She burst out laughing as he climbed after her 
and took his place in what he described as the stern- 
sheets. 

“ I was just thinkin’,” she said, “ that you don’t 
look much like Noah.” 


RESCUE 


205 


“ If it’s going to be a Noah’s Ark voyage I will 
before it’s over,” he answered, feeling the stubble of 
beard on his face. 

“ But you won’t be six hundred years old, No. 
44. That’s what Noah was. And it says he lived 
three hundred and fifty years after he got ashore. 
You got quite a spell ahead of you. Where do you 
guess we’ll find Ararat? ” 

“ Somewhere outside of Pickerel Bay, I hope.” 

He picked up one of the paddles and began push- 
ing out of the little cove. As they floated clear of 
the island Sadie looked back wistfully. 

“‘And The Ark went upon the face of the 
waters,’ ” she quoted solemnly. 

Stoddard looked at her with new interest. 

“ You’ve been doing some reading, Sadie,” 
he commented. “ Also, some remembering. How 
much can you quote? ” 

“ Just little bits, in spots,” she answered. “ I’ve 
read it all, once over. But there’s parts of it I’ve 
read lots of times — the parts with adventures in 
em. 

“ Adventures? ” 

“ Sure. Why, it’s just full of grand adventures, 
No. 44! It’s got fights and battles and explorin’ 
and lots of excitin’ things. They never had no trou- 
ble about outdoors in them days. It must’ve been 
pretty good times, livin’ with all the trimmin’s.” 

As The Ark reached deep water Stoddard, with 
a final thrust of his long-handled paddle against the 
bottom, slewed the bow gently around till it pointed 
in the direction of the South Arm. The wind was 


20 6 


MISTER 44 


not dead astern, but he figured that it would serve. 
This proved to be the case, for the raft gathered 
way gradually and set off at a drifting pace parallel 
to the shore of the island. 

Pickerel Bay was pleasantly rippled by the breeze. 
On such a surface Stoddard had no fears for the 
stability of their craft. The sail of balsam-boughs 
“ leaked ” far more wind than it held, but, despite 
its shortcomings, it furnished steerage-way, and by 
cautious paddling he accelerated their speed a trifle. 
Soon the last point of the island slipped past 
them. 

“ Good-by, friend,” said Sadie with a wave of her 
hand. “ Cornin’ again some day.” 

She was proud of The Ark and anxious that it 
should acquit itself with credit, not because it meant 
a way to freedom, but for the reason that it was 
born of her own suggestion, and she thus felt a pe- 
culiar responsibility for it. As to the freedom part, 
she was not sure that it lay ahead of them. Their 
island had seemed wonderfully like freedom to 
Sadie. 

“ If this breeze holds,” Stoddard told her, “ we’ll 
make as far as the South Arm by sundown.” 

“Then what?” 

“ Depends on circumstances. If things are going 
well we may be able to make right on for the hotel.” 

“ And me in this outfit,” commented Sadie du- 
biously as she surveyed her costume. Two days 
on the island, combined with several hours of raft- 
building, had played sad havoc with the suit that 
had been so new and stylish when she left Buffalo. 


RESCUE 


207 

“ They’ll fix you out with clothes,” he assured 
her. 

“ Think they can fit me? ” 

Now that he thought of it Stoddard was doubt- 
ful. Women like Sadie were rare in the Deepwater. 
For that matter, they were rare anywhere, so far as 
his experience was concerned. 

After a little while she wanted to paddle, but he 
shook his head. He did not care to risk the bal- 
ance of The Ark, nor was he sure that the fabric 
would hold together if the vigorous arms of Sadie 
added to his own efforts. She was disappointed, 
but he promised to teach her to paddle a canoe some 
day, whereupon she brightened and launched into a 
fusillade of questions concerning navigation in the 
woods-country. 

“ And I’ll learn to go over waterfalls, too, like 
you when I first seen you,” she declared. 

“ I believe you could,” he said thoughtfully, his 
glance appraising her for the hundredth time. 

“ Do you suppose I could ever be a guide, like you 
told me about? ” she asked presently. 

“ I never heard of a woman guide, Sadie.” 

“ There ain’t a law against it, is there? ” 

“ No, I don’t think there is.” 

“ Because I’d like it better than washin’ dishes, 
No. 44. I’d feel like I was really doin’ something.” 

“ Guides wash dishes,” he informed her. 

“ Maybe. But they do other things, too. Big 
things ! ” 

She threw her arms wide in a gesture, as if she 
would embrace and hold fast forever this outdoors 


208 “ MISTER 44 ” 

that had come to her so magically from the land of 
her dreams. 

“ I want to live where I can have all of it! ” she 
exclaimed. “ I want the woods and the water and 
all the sunlight. And I want the nights when I can 
see the stars shinin’ through the trees, and it’s all 
still and sort of creepy and sets you tinglin’. And 
the wind blowin’ through the leaves, ’stead of cornin’ 
in through windows. And — and — Oh, I just 
got to have it — all ! ” 

In her face, uplifted to the sky, Stoddard seemed 
to see her very soul. Her words, the unconscious 
pose of her outstretched arms, stirred him. Deep 
in her gray eyes were happiness and yearning and 
exaltation. 

Suddenly, as if for a little she had been oblivious 
to his presence, she dropped her arms and looked at 
him with an embarrassed smile. 

“ I can’t say it right, No. 44. And some of it 
seems as if it shouldn’t be said, except like sayin’ 
prayers. But it’s here ” — she laid her hand on her 
breast — “ and I feel it — always! ” 

“ I know,” he said, nodding. “ Sometimes I feel 
it, too.” 

“ And you wouldn’t give it up, would you? ” she 
demanded eagerly. 

“ No; I wouldn’t.” 

“Why, you couldn’t!” she exclaimed. “No- 
body could, when they feel it.” 

The Ark moved methodically onward. A mile 
astern lay the island, green and placid in the light of 


RESCUE 


209 

the afternoon sun, save for a spot, that blazed scar- 
let, half-hidden in the verdure. Sadie pointed. 

“ It’s a maple, turning early,” he explained. 
14 The rest will follow by and by.” 

“ I bet it’s as proud as a girl springin’ the first 
new style in town,” was her comment. 

44 Then you know how it feels,” he laughed. 

“ No-o; not exactly. Guess you don’t know much 
about new styles. They’re high, first; then they get 
cheaper and everybody gets ’em. By the time they 
get to you — I mean me — everybody has ’em and 
the swells are wearin’ new ones. You don’t never 
quite catch up, but it’s kind of excitin’ tryin’ to.” 

“ Trying to catch Kitty and Estelle,” he added. 

44 Who?” 

44 1 was just using an illustration.” 

44 1 get you. But who are they? ” 

Sadie did not know that she was frowning slightly. 
44 Two girls back in New York.” 

44 Friends of yours? ” 

44 Oh, yes.” 

“Lookers?” 

“Why — Kitty is.” 

“ And the other one? ” she demanded. 

“ Not so much, although some people think so.” 

44 Rich?” 

“ They’re supposed to be. Estelle is, anyhow.” 
“Swells?” 

“ They’re pretty strong for society.” 

“ Good dressers? ” 

“ I guess so. I don’t know much about that.” 


210 


MISTER 44 ” 


Sadie glanced down at her cheap skirt, now shorn 
of its new smartness. She sighed softly. She knew 
how tawdry she must seem in the eyes of No. 44. 

She wished he had not told her of Kitty and 
Estelle. Of course, she understood that the girls he 
knew were very different from herself; that the peo- 
ple of his world were not those of hers. 

But, even though she knew that it was false and 
shadowy, she had been cherishing an illusion; now 
it had gone from her abruptly. She saw herself 
once more as she knew he must see her. 

Stoddard, watching her, understood. 

“ Sadie,” he said, smiling faintly, “ you’re worry- 
ing because you think I’m comparing you to Kitty 
and Estelle. You’re afraid I’ll think you’re not well 
enough dressed. You’re — ” 

“ Stop readin’ my mind, No. 44,” she interrupted. 

“ I never compare you to Kitty and Estelle; I al- 
ways contrast you,” he explained. “ You can’t make 
a comparison in a case like that. And it wouldn’t 
do for you to dress as they do, Sadie.” 

“Why not?” 

There was a note of resentment and defiance in her 
voice. 

“ Because, Sadie, it wouldn’t be fair to Kitty and 
Estelle. What would they do, then? ” 

Slowly she reddened as she caught his meaning. 
She did not dare look at him. For the moment she 
wished she was quit of their little Ark; she wanted 
to run. Something made her shy and timid when 
he said things like that. 

She knew he was looking down at her, probably 


RESCUE 


21 I 


at her hair, because her face was hidden from him. 
He was always looking at her hair. She was dis- 
tressed over its disorder. 

She wondered if she ought to say anything. 
What was a girl expected to do? She was pain- 
fully — delightfully — embarrassed. 

“ I guess I got to thank you for that, No. 44,” 
she whispered finally. “ It’s all right now — * about 
the clothes.” 

Stoddard had it on his lips to say more. This 
woman in front of him was beautiful, and in a won- 
drous way that was utterly new to him. Why not 
tell her so? Why was such speech only for the ears 
of the other kind? Yet he hesitated; then shook his 
head. 

“ If I tell her the truth,” he thought, “ we’ll both 
be so flustered that we’ll want to jump off the raft. 
Beside, it would take too long.” 

The Ark was moving faster, under the impulse of 
a wind that freshened. Sadie, to spare herself from 
meeting his glance, turned about on her box and 
peered through the interstices of the balsam-sail, 
watching the bluff-point ahead that marked the en- 
trance to Pickerel Bay. Stoddard remembered that 
he had half a pipeful of tobacco, carefully plugged 
into the bowl with a wad of paper. He decided to 
smoke it. Kneeling on the raft, he crouched to 
shield a match from the wind. 

A minute later, when his pipe was drawing safely, 
he looked up. Slowly an expression of amazement 
spread over his face. 

Sadie had been sitting less than ten feet away. 


212 


MISTER 44 ” 


Now she was fifty feet away, still perched on her 
box and still intent upon the course ahead. 

There were two rafts instead of one. 

Stoddard leaped to his feet, perilously rocking his 
half of the dismembered Ark , and shouted. 

Sadie turned, gasped and started to stand up. 

“ Down! Sit down! ” he yelled as the forward 
section of The Ark also tipped and swayed. 

Sadie obeyed at once. 

“ Sit perfectly still ! ” he called. “ Wait till I get 
there.” 

He seized one of the clumsy paddles and fell to 
work. The logs under his feet squirmed and 
strained at their lashings, threatening to fly apart 
as the result of his exertions. The afterpart of The 
Ark was almost square and balked steadily at at- 
tempts to navigate it. Stoddard found it as reluct- 
ant to make progress in any single direction as a 
tub. He tried sculling from the stern, and found 
that this threatened to split the frail platform into 
further divisions. 

Sadie called to him; he glanced over his shoul- 
der. She was more than a hundred feet distant now. 

“Don’t be scared!” he shouted. “I’ll get 
there.” 

He bent anew to the task of trying to reunite the 
pieces of The Ark . The blade of his paddle, nailed 
flimsily to the shaft, dropped off and floated astern. 
He turned to seize the other paddle, but found none. 
It was with Sadie. 

The distance since he had last looked was nearly 
doubled. Sadie’s half of The Ark was sailing 


RESCUE 213 

serenely on, its speed accelerated by lightened 
weight. 

“ Take down the sail ! ” he cried to her. 

She turned and began tearing the thatch of bal- 
sam into fragments. She made short work of it, but 
the halves of the sundered Ark were a hundred yards 
apart by the time she had accomplished it. 

Stoddard paddled desperately with a bare stick, 
but might as well have been using his fingers. Ap- 
parently he could not gain an inch on Sadie ; in fact 
he lost more ground, because the forepart of the 
raft had not yet yielded all of the momentum sup- 
plied by the sail. 

“ I’ll try to paddle to you ! ” called Sadie. 

“ No! Don’t touch it! You may upset.” 

The platform upon which Stoddard stood showed 
further signs of disintegrating. The withes that 
fastened the logs together loosened till he found 
himself in the position of a man trying to ride two 
horses. Only with a great effort could he keep the 
structure from splitting completely apart. 

Rather earnestly he cursed himself for hasty and 
faulty building. He wondered now, as he saw the 
lashings loosen one by one, how The Ark had man- 
aged to hold together as long as it did. Eventually 
he was forced to abandon all efforts to propel him- 
self toward Sadie and, instead, had to devote his en- 
tire attention to keeping his precarious craft to- 
gether. 

Sadie meanwhile was sitting perfectly quiet, as 
ordered. She was not alarmed. On the contrary 
the episode furnished her with some amusement, for 


214 


“ MISTER 44 ” 

occasionally she laughed at the frantic efforts of 
Stoddard to bring them together. She sat on her 
box with her hands folded, calling encouragement to 
him. She hoped he was not aware of her mirth. 

Only one thing prevented him from swimming to 
join her — his knowledge that Sadie’s half of The 
Ark would not be sufficient to sustain both of them. 
He could easily reach her, but would have to con- 
tent himself with clinging to the edge, his body in the 
water, and he could see nothing to be gained by such 
a maneuver. 

It was near sunset. The vagaries of the breeze 
were increasing the distance between them. The 
forward- and afterparts of The Ark appeared to 
have an antipathy for each other. They resisted all 
efforts to a union. 

Stoddard realized that their situation was ridicu- 
lous; yet he saw a serious side, too, for if nightfall 
found them thus he would be greatly worried about 
Sadie. Before that event happened, however, he 
resolved that he would swim to her, so as to be near 
her. Perhaps, too, by clinging to her platform and 
kicking vigorously he might guide the way to shore 
again. 

Sadie was calling again. He looked up. She 
had half risen from her seat and was pointing at 
something in another direction. Close to the point 
ahead was a canoe, moving slowly. 

Stoddard made a megaphone of his hands and bel- 
lowed a series of hails, whereat Sadie took up the 
cry in long, musical “ Whoo-ooo! ” that carried far 
beyond his deeper notes. 


RESCUE 


215 


The canoe, distant from them nearly a mile, 
seemed to hesitate, then increased its pace. Stod- 
dard caught a series of yellow flashes as the golden 
sun, now low over the hills, played upon the wet 
blade of a paddle. 

“All right, Sadie!” called Stoddard. “He’s 
coming ! ” 

The forepart of The Ark lay between Stoddard 
and the canoe, so that Sadie would be first to be 
rescued. Stoddard sat down contentedly on his 
craft, spreading his legs wide to hold the logs to- 
gether. 

Sadie beheld a birch-bark canoe cutting through 
the little waves at surprising speed. She was even 
more astonished to discover, when it drew near, that * 
the paddle was being plied by a “ shrimp ” — a lit- 
tle, thin, dark man, with extraordinarily black eyes. 

“An Injian!” she whispered to herself as the 
bark craft drew alongside. 

He gave her no salutation, but merely laid hold 
of the logs to steady his canoe and nodded to her 
to step in. She obeyed cautiously, for the bark ves- 
sel seemed to be singularly frail, even though it 
floated buoyantly. Pushing away from The Ark 
without a second glance at it, the Indian resumed his 
paddle and headed in the direction of Stoddard. 

As the latter climbed into the canoe the after- 
part of The Ark, relieved of his weight, quietly re- 
solved itself into scattered drift-wood. Stoddard 
grinned at Sadie, and she in turn laughed at him. 

“Got any tobacco, John?” he demanded, ad- 
dressing the Indian. 


CHAPTER XV 


“ OUT OF THE FRYING-PAN — ” 

I T was sunset as the canoe bearing the trio swung 
into the open water of the South Arm. Sadie, 
sitting amidships and facing the bow, had com- 
pletely forgotten her recent adventure. She was 
giving all her attention to the Indian, John, who 
had exchanged places with Stoddard and was now 
wielding the forward paddle. 

The redman did not look noble in Sadie’s eyes; 
he was too small, and he did not dress as does the 
aboriginee of the movies. It was the manifest 
power that came out of his almost emaciated body 
that astonished her, just as it had always puzzled 
Stoddard himself. John was a paddling machine, 
efficient and tireless. 

Stoddard laid the bow of the canoe on a line 
for the Deepwater Hotel, now visible, at some 
three-miles’ distance. He called Sadie’s attention to 
the fact. She made no comment, but sighed. To 
her the hotel seemed to stand for the end of the 
story. 

John presently ceased at his labor and faced 
about. Not once had he made an inquiry concern- 
ing Sadie or the plight in which he found both her 
and Stoddard, nor did he now. He merely asked : 
216 


OUT OF THE FRYING-PAN — ’ 


217 


“ Hotel? ” 

“Yes; for the lady,” answered Stoddard. 

“ You see folks,” nodded John. 

“ She has no folks here.” 

“ Your folks,” corrected the Indian. 

“Mine?” 

“ Sure.” 

“ My folks are not here either, John.” 

“ Yes; at hotel,” remarked John. 

“What! ” 

“ Sure; come this morning.” 

“ Caesar’s ghost ! Are you sure ? ” 

“ Two women,” added John. 

“ You mean my mother — and sister? ” 

The Indian nodded; then started to resume pad- 
dling. Stoddard checked him abruptly. 

“Hold on! Wait a minute. I want to think,” 
he called. “ Did you see them yourself? ” 

“ Come to camp in launch,” explained the Indian. 
“ This afternoon.” 

Stoddard, dismayed, began a rapid fire of ques- 
tions. He learned that his mother and Betty had 
arrived at Deepwater that morning to make a brief 
stop on their way westward. 

They had visited the camp on the Northeast 
Arm, to find only Stoddard’s camp-mate, Larry Liv- 
ingston, and the Indian there. Larry was in a fret 
of indignation over his desertion by Stoddard. He 
had no explanation to offer. Neither had John. 

The ladies had made a brief visit and promised to 
return. Following their departure, John had set out 
on a hunt of his own for the missing one. 


218 


MISTER 44 


Sadie was no less dismayed than Stoddard himself 
as she assimilated the news. No. 44’s folks were 
at the hotel, whither she was now bound, and she 
would meet them — arrayed thus ! 

The prospect terrified her. It was an issue she 
lacked the hardihood to meet. She turned to Stod- 
dard appealingly. 

“ Take me somewhere else,” she pleaded. “ I 
can’t meet ’em this way. I got to get some clothes.” 

She did not realize the boon her words bestowed 
upon Stoddard. He also had been reflecting swiftly 
upon the impossibility of introducing Sadie to the 
same hotel at which his mother and Betty were stay- 
ing, not because he was ashamed of her, not because 
her dress was torn and soiled, not because her hair 
was flung loose to the wind, as if she were a wild 
woman, but because — well, because he could not in- 
vent a way to account for her. 

He clutched at the opportunity Sadie offered. 

“ You really think you wouldn’t care to meet them 
until you’re fixed up a little? ” he asked. 

“ Why, I just can’t. ” she exclaimed. “ I’d die ! ” 

“ Then I don’t see anything to do for the present 
but to take you to camp,” he observed. 

To Sadie the suggestion was blessed relief. 

“ Take me there ! ” she urged. “ I ain’t fit to go 
anywhere else.” 

Stoddard, with a feeling that disaster had again 
been miraculously averted, quickly changed their 
course, and the canoe began the journey to the island 
where L,arry Livingston was worrying, fuming, and 
cursing all the Fates. 


“OUT OF THE FRYING-PAN — ” 219 

There was ample time for thought now, but Stod- 
dard could not manage to see far enough into the 
future for satisfactory planning. Sadie would have 
to meet Larry, of course, while some sort of ex- 
planation would also be required. Nevertheless he 
was resolved to tell no more than he could avoid. 
Larry would neither appreciate nor understand; 
furthermore, it was really none of Larry’s business. 
This was his affair — and Sadie’s. 

He was dazed at the turn of fortune that had 
brought his mother and Betty to the Deepwater. 
When he left New York there had been talk of their 
joining a party to travel from coast to coast by pri- 
vate car, probably through Canada, but there had 
been no suggestion of such a visit as this, which was 
evidently the result of whim or sudden change of 
plans. 

“ I bet you’ll be glad to see ’em,” observed Sa- 
die. 

“ I never wanted to see them less,” he declared 
earnestly. 

“ Why, No. 44! That don’t sound good.” 

“ Can’t help it. This country is no place for them. 
And besides — ” 

He hesitated, embarrassed by the thought in his 
mind. 

“ Well, they shouldn’t have come without sending 
word.” 

“You got to make allowances for us women,” 
mused Sadie philosophically. “ I came kinda sud- 
den myself, even if I did telegraph.” 

It was dark when the canoe rounded into the 


220 


MISTER 44 


Northeast Arm. Far ahead of them they caught the 
gleam of a camp-fire. 

“ Larry is certainly piling on the wood,” com- 
mented Stoddard. 

“ Got plenty,” John assured him. “ I cut it.” 

The figure of a man silhouetted itself against the 
blaze as they drew close to the island, then advanced 
to the landing place to meet the approaching canoe. 

“ That you, Stod? ” called a voice. 

“ Yes. Hello, Larry.” 

“ Where in blazes have you been? ” 

“ Fishing, swimming, hunting,” replied Stoddard 
nonchalantly. “ How are you? ” 

“ Safe enough — no thanks to you ! ” growled 
Livingston. “ That’s a nice trick to play on a fel- 
low. Do you know your mother is here? ” 

“ John told me. Is she well? ” 

“ Seems to be. But I didn’t know what the deuce 
to say about you.” 

“ Mother knows I can take care of myself,” 
laughed Stoddard as the canoe touched the rock. 
“ She’s used to having me go off on sudden expedi- 
tions.” 

He stepped ashore and reached a hand to Sadie. 
As her stalwart figure rose out of the canoe Living- 
ston, unaware till then of her presence because of the 
gloom, uttered a cry of surprise. 

“ Miss Hicks, this is my friend, Mr. Livingston,” 
said Stoddard calmly. 

It was Sadie who managed to find Livingston’s 
hand and give it a cordial grasp. 

“ Glad to meet you,” she said. 


“ OUT OF THE FRYING-PAN — ’ 


221 


Larry was speechless. Bending forward for a 
better view of this unexpected arrival, he discovered 
himself looking upward into her eyes. 

Sadie had been prepared by Stoddard for an un- 
favorable impression of his friend, and she found 
herself making a swift classification of him accord- 
ing to her inevitable standards of stature. He was 
not much better than she expected. 

“ Miss Hicks? ” Larry echoed when he recovered 
voice. 

“Yes; Miss Hicks,” affirmed Stoddard. 

“ But who — what — ” 

“ Miss Hicks is a friend of mine,” pursued Stod- 
dard. “ She is from Buffalo. This is her first trip 
to Canada. She has come here to accept a posi- 
tion.” 

“Here?” Livingston’s tone betrayed amazed 
incredulity. 

“No; not exactly here,” laughed Stoddard. 
“ That is, if you mean on this island. But she has 
come to Deepwater. I went to meet her two nights 
ago, to take her down to the hotel, where she ex- 
pects to stop for a while.” 

Sadie was listening to this bland recital of her 
plans with almost as much wonder as Larry him- 
self. 

“ We were caught in the storm, unfortunately,” 
Stoddard continued, “ and Miss Hicks had the bad 
luck to lose her baggage. In fact we also lost the 
canoe. We were forced to make a temporary camp. 
John found us a couple of hours ago. Anything 
ready to eat? ” 


222 “MISTER 44” 

Livingston merely stood and stared, first at Sadie, 
then at his friend. 

“ But I don’t understand, Stod. Why didn’t — ■” 

“ Listen, son ! I asked if you had anything to eat. 
That’s more important to Miss Hicks and myself 
just now than anything else.” 

“ Why, yes; of course! John can get you some- 
thing.” 

He turned to Sadie, who had not spoken since ac- 
knowledging Stoddard’s introduction. 

“ You see, Miss Hicks,” Larry began, “ I was not 
expecting company, and — ” 

“ Sure you wasn’t,” interrupted Sadie. “ I know. 
I ain’t company anyhow. I’m just a butter-in. But 
if you got a sandwich handy, Mr. Livingston, I cer- 
tainly can use it.” 

Larry gasped anew. He fell back a step, as if 
pushed by some invisible force. He did not know 
whether he heard aright. Stoddard, sensing his dis- 
may and fearful that he would reveal the cause of 
it, grasped him by the arm and urged him toward 
the camp-fire, where John was already busy at the 
grub-sacks. 

“ We’ll eat first and talk afterward,” he said. 

“ My middle name is Food,” observed Sadie sol- 
emnly, as she followed the pair into the firelight. 

Stoddard, despite his assumed manner of ease, 
was disturbed and greatly puzzled. He could not 
put a seal upon Sadie’s lips nor upon Larry’s ears. 
Nor could he, in Sadie’s presence, make the slightest 
explanation to Larry of her manner of speech and 
of her very evident limitations of education. From 


44 OUT OF THE FRYING-PAN — ” 


223 


his own experience he knew how her words sounded 
to the ears of his friend, and, although he was now 
somewhat accustomed to Sadie’s lapses, he realized 
that to Larry they would be a source of amazement 
and shock. 

As she stood close to the blazing logs Livingston 
viewed her with eyes in which there was an expres- 
sion of horror and awe. The disorder of her cos- 
tume appalled him. Her stature, her figure, her fly- 
ing hair, seemed to stun him. She was like a young 
savage; magnificent, in a wild way, but uncouth, un- 
tutored and, from the conventional view-point of 
Larry, impossible. 

Sadie in turn inspected Livingston with placid yet 
appraising glances. Little men she did not like-, 
save that she was conscious of a very recent and odd 
exception. This was in the person of Indian John. 
Physically John was in every way to be catalogued 
with shrimps she had seen and met. 

But John, because of the fact that he was fitly a 
part of her big outdoors, had mysteriously risen 
above his stature. She admitted, somewhat to the 
confusion of her ideals, that John was truly a man. 
She had heard No. 44 tell of his prowess; she her- 
self had witnessed it. So she set John aside as an 
exception, to be correctly identified and classified 
later. 

But Larry enjoyed no such dispensation in Sa- 
die’s eyes. He was merely a grade above the 
shrimp; he was a peewee. She had promised No. 
44 to stretch a point and elevate him to the sparrow 
class, but as she viewed him now her conscience 


224 


“ MISTER 44 ” 


smote her, for she knew that he was unworthy of 
such arbitrary promotion. Sadie’s first impression 
of him, moreover, did not cease with physical con- 
tempt. 

Something whispered to her that she was look- 
ing upon her natural enemy. She was as sure of 
this as if he had thus declared himself. Her judg- 
ments were often swift and usually intuitive, but she 
rarely found it necessary to reverse them. She was 
certain of Livingston. He fairly radiated hostility, 
in glance, in action and in speech, although not in 
words. 

“ He’s against me,” she told herself; “ I got his 
number. Maybe he’s No. 44’s friend — but he ain’t 
mine.” 

But because he was Stoddard’s friend Larry did 
not awaken the spirit of battle within her. She was 
content to avoid him if she could. Should avoid- 
ance be impossible, then she would endure him. She 
would run no risk of offending No. 44. 

The rescued pair were too busy repairing the rav- 
ages of short rations and venerable porcupine to 
do much talking. Between mouthfuls Stoddard fur- 
nished to Larry as much additional explanation con- 
cerning Sadie as he purposed giving. At times, 
when Larry looked at her, Sadie herself would con- 
firm Stoddard’s narrative with vigorous nods. 

Only John seemed to be quite indifferent to the 
advent of this young Amazon in camp. He ac- 
cepted her without curiosity or question^as he would 
anything that concerned Stoddard. If the big man 
had fetched an aeroplane into the woods, or an au- 


“OUT OF THE FRYING-PAN—” 225 

tomobile, or had navigated the Deepwater in a sub- 
marine, John would not so much as blink an eye in 
surprise; not because Stoddard was given to eccen- 
tric feats, but because whatever he did had a solid 
reason behind it, in the opinion of the Indian. 

Larry, upon whom Sadie’s speech exercised a 
spell of horrid fascination, tried to draw her into 
conversation, without signal success. He viewed her 
reluctance to talk with suspicion. There was some- 
thing irregular about it all, he decided; it was too 
utterly mysterious and unconventional. 

He was amazed at Stoddard. How and whence 
such a creature had come into his friend’s life he 
could not even faintly speculate. Covert inquiries 
and hints yielded little satisfaction. 

“ I never heard Stod happen to speak of you, Miss 
— er — Hicks,” he remarked. 

“ I know lots of people I never happen to men- 
tion to you,” broke in Stoddard hastily. “ Sadie 
and I have known each other a long time.” 

He cast a swift glance at her as he spoke. Sadie 
took her cue. She felt that at least she had known 
Stoddard ever so long. She knew him far, far back, 
when she had begun dreaming of her outdoors. 

“ Sadie? ” echoed Livingston involuntarily. 

“ Sure ! ” she laughed a little uneasily. “ Jack 
and me are old friends.” 

Now that she had said it she was frightened. 
No. 44 would think it was brazen of her — calling 
him Jack! But she was desperately trying to play 
her part. She knew his name was John; he had 
signed it thus in his letter. Most of the Johns she 


226 


“ MISTER 44 ” 


knew were called Jack by their “ old friends.” And, 
of course, it was out of the question to call him by 
the arithmetical name she had bestowed upon him, 
for that was something only she and No. 44 could 
understand. 

She was flushing redly as she glanced at Stoddard 
across the camp-fire. He grinned at her and winked. 

“You’re from Buffalo? ” suggested Livingston. 

“ I was in business there,” answered Sadie with a 
magnificent air. 

“What profession, may I ask, Miss Hicks? ” 

Sadie felt herself trapped. There was something 
pitiful in the swift look she gave Stoddard. His 
glance was on the tin plate that rested between his 
knees. Then she steeled herself as she turned to her 
accepted enemy. 

“ Packin’ boxes in a shirt factory,” she said in a 
steady voice. 

There ! It was out, and she felt better. She 
knew it was of no avail to play the educated lady; it 
was a part far beyond her powers. 

“ And,” she added sweetly, meeting Larry’s eyes 
fairly, “ I expect to be washin’ dishes in the hotel 
as soon’s the management and me reaches an agree- 
ment.” 

Stoddard was looking at her now. Her heart 
gave an extra beat when she found no pity in his 
eyes. Instead she saw admiration. He smiled at 
her, too, and nodded. 

“ You see, Larry,” he said, “ Sadie has decided, 
very wisely, to quit the city. She likes to be out- 
doors, so I offered to help her get a position. We 


“OUT OF THE FRYING-PAN—” 227 

have discussed the whole matter quite fully, and we 
both agree she is doing the right thing. Don’t we, 
Sadie?” 

“ Yes, Jack.” 

It slipped out that time, but she was no longer 
frightened at the sound of it. 

Livingston relapsed into silence. It was worse 
than he believed. A creature from a factory ! He 
wondered if Stoddard was entirely sane. 

As for the girl, there was no doubt of her sanity. 
She was shrewd and calculating, he felt, beyond all 
question. She was seizing an opportunity not to be 
missed. He secretly commiserated with his friend, 
who was too blind to see or understand. 

The faint putt-putt of a motor-launch came across 
the water. Stoddard inclined his ear toward the 
sound. 

“That’ll 'be your mother and sister, I imagine,” 
said Larry with affected carelessness. 

“To-night!” Stoddard fairly shouted the 
word. 

“ They said they’d probably run up this even- 
ing if it was clear and pleasant,” explained Larry. 
“ They thought you might be back, and as they ex- 
pect to leave to-morrow they won’t have much time 
to see you.” 

Stoddard had risen to his feet and was looking at 
Sadie. He felt panic struggling within him. So did 
Sadie, who also arose and faced him. 

“Yes; come to-night,” volunteered John as he 
nodded toward the now clearer noise of the power- 
boat’s exhaust. 


228 


MISTER 44 ” 


“ I can’t see anybody in these clothes ! ” blurted 
Sadie. “ Not ladies.” 

“ You’d rather wait? ” suggested Stoddard. 

“ Gracious, yes ! ” 

Livingston looked at the pair cynically and 
smiled in a shadowy way. They paid no attention 
to him. 

“ I can understand how you feel, Sadie,” said 
Stoddard, yet ashamed of his sudden timorousness. 
“ You don’t have to see them now, of course.” 

“ Hide me ! ” commanded Sadie briefly. 

“ There’s the tent,” suggested Larry. 

“ Nix,” said Sadie shortly. “ I know women. 
If they see it closed up they’ll go straight to it. 
Take me somewhere else.” 

Seizing her arm Stoddard walked her rapidly 
across the little clearing into the woods. A dozen 
feet beyond the rim of the trees was utter darkness; 
at least to the eyes of persons who stood in the fire- 
light. He felt guilty and contemptible as he groped 
about until he found a rock upon which Sadie could 
sit. 

“ It doesn’t seem right,” he began. “ But you 
understand — ” 

“ Why, I want to be hid! ” exclaimed Sadie. “ I 
wouldn’t have women see me in this outfit for a thou- 
sand jobs. I’ll just sit here till they go. They 
won’t stay all night, will they? ” 

“ Certainly not. It’s good of you not to mind, 
Sadie.” 

“ Why, I’m doin’ myself a favor ! ” 


“OUT OF THE FRYING-PAN—” 229 

He hesitated; then his hand found hers in the 
dark. 

“ Don’t mind Larry,” he said in a low voice. 
“ He doesn’t understand. And that was brave of 
you, telling him about your work.” 

“Was it ? ” she whispered. “ Thanks — Jack ! ” 

Something soft and cool brushed the back of his 
hand as he turned to leave her. Sadie, secure from 
his eyes, had laid her cheek against it. 


CHAPTER XVI 

“WHY DID SADIE CRY?” 

W HEN Stoddard reached the camp-fire 
Larry was starting for the landing- 
place to meet the arriving launch. 

“ Not a word, you understand,” said Stoddard. 

“ About what? ” 

“ About her.” And he nodded toward Sadie’s 
place of concealment. 

“ I don’t see why,” said Larry. “ They’re bound 
to hear of it sooner or later. It’s too absurd to be 
kept concealed.” 

Stoddard gripped him by the arm. 

“ This is my affair,” he said shortly. “ It’s my 
business to tell about it if I choose; nobody else’s. 
You leave it alone.” 

“ Piffle ! ” exclaimed Livingston lightly. “ It’s a 
good story.” 

“ Well, you don’t tell it, son.” And Stoddard put 
a pressure on Larry’s arm that made the latter 
wince. “ Mind, now! ” 

“ But suppose ! ” 

“ If you so much as drop a hint I’ll pick you up 
and toss you into the lake. I mean that, too.” 

“ Oh, all right, if you’re so fussy about it! It’s 
got you scared, has it? Ouch! You’re hurting my 
arm. Let go ! ” 


230 


“WHY DID SADIE CRY? ” 231 

“ Remember ! ” said Stoddard grimly, as he loos- 
ened his grip. “ The lake for yours.” 

Out of the cool darkness came the launch, cau- 
tiously feeling her way to the rocky shore. Stod- 
dard was awaiting her as the bow came within his 
reach. An instant later he was lifting his mother 
and Betty to the firm ground. 

“And where in the world have you been?” ex- 
claimed Mrs. Stoddard as she greeted her son af- 
fectionately. “ Larry said you deserted him for two 
days.” 

“ Oh, I was just prowling around in the canoe,” 
said Stoddard. “ Larry was all right. He had 
John. And how are you both? This is certainly 
springing a surprise on me.” 

With an arm around each he led Betty and his 
mother to the camp-fire, where John had spread a 
blanket over a log to serve as a bench for the visi- 
tors. 

As Mrs. Stoddard now obtained a view of her big 
son she uttered a cry of dismay. 

“ For mercy’s sake, John ! What in the 
world have you been doing? You are a perfect 
fright!” 

Stoddard grinned at her cheerfully. 

“ I’m not exactly dolled up for company,” he ad- 
mitted. “We don’t pack evening duds up here, 
mother.” 

There was genuine horror in Mrs. Stoddard’s 
eyes. Those of Betty had less of dismay in them, 
but an equal amount of astonishment. She had 
never seen her brother in the garb of a tramp, with 


232 


“ MISTER 44 ” 


a torn shirt and a stubble of beard, and she was 
frankly interested in the spectacle. 

“ Here, sit down, the pair of you,” urged Stod- 
dard. 

“ Sorry we haven’t got porch-chairs. Tremen- 
dously glad to see you, just the same. Want some- 
thing to eat? ” 

Mrs. Stoddard glanced at a pile of tin plates and 
cups, and shuddered. 

“ We dined at the hotel,” she said hastily. 

“ Then tell me all the news,” commanded Stod- 
dard. “ How’s New York? And what brings you 
here?” 

“ We came in your uncle’s private car,” said Mrs. 
Stoddard as she gingerly sat on the blanketed log. 
“ We are going through to the Pacific Coast. He 
had some business near North Bay that was to keep 
him for a couple of days, so we decided to run up to 
see you.” 

“That’s fine! Too bad I wasn’t in this after- 
noon. Did Larry show you the camp? ” 

“ We have seen it,” replied his mother with a sigh 
as she drew her skirt about her ankles. 

“ Nice little island, isn’t it? ” 

“ I can’t say that I appreciate it. Don’t you get 
enough of this sort of thing, John, without delib- 
erately choosing it as a vacation? ” 

“ No,” was the prompt answer. 

“But it’s so crude, so uncomfortable, so dirty! 
Ugh!” 

“ Why, it’s as clean as a pin, mother ! This is a 
spotless camp.” 


WHY DID SADIE CRY? 


“Look at your hands, John! And your arms! 
Do you call them clean? ” 

“ It’s clean dirt,” he said stoutly’. “ It hasn’t any 
New York germs in it anyhow.” 

Mrs. Stoddard made a gesture of annoyance and 
inspected her gloved hands, whereon she promptly 
discovered smudges. She was a handsome woman, 
and to her son she never looked more attractive 
than now, with the ruddy light of the fire playing 
upon her fine features and her heavy coils of white 
hair. In the matter of costume she made no con- 
cessions to the Deepwater country. Her gown was 
from Paris, and looked it. Even Betty was a fash- 
ion-plate. 

Stoddard surveyed the pair with amused eyes and 
began to smile. 

“You’ll have to pardon me, mother,” he said, 
“ but you look just as funny to me as I do to you, I 
imagine. We don’t see clothes like that up here 
once in an age.” 

Mrs. Stoddard inspected her costume with anxious 
eyes. 

“ Betty and I did not know we were leaving civil- 
ization,” she answered. 

“ Otherwise you wouldn’t have left at all,” he 
laughed. 

“ More than likely. We certainly should not 
willingly have undertaken anything like this. We 
have been very comfortable aboard the car. But 
of course you know all about that yourself. I imag- 
ine we do look somewhat misplaced, but the visit was 
unexpected.” 


234 


“ MISTER 44 ” 


“ I suppose you’re something of a sensation at the 
hotel,” he remarked. 

“Sensation!” broke in Betty. “I should say 
we were! I never longed for a shirtwaist and a 
golf-skirt as I did to-day. We were positive curi- 
osities ! ” 

She looked down at her pumps and silken ankles 
with a rueful expression. 

“ But tell me about this trip,” said Stoddard. 
“ How long are you planning to be gone? ” 

“ Three or four weeks probably,” answered his 
mother. “ It depends somewhat upon your uncle’s 
business. We will meet the Wallaces at the coast, 
where they will join us.” 

“Estelle?” Stoddard smiled a trifle ironically 
as he mentioned the name of the society girl whom 
his mother wished him to marry. 

“ Yes. With her father and mother. They are 
West now.” 

“And the Fitches?” 

“ They went abroad, you know. Kitty is with 
them.” * 

“ That’s so; I’d forgotten.” 

“ I wish we could have gone,” complained Betty. 
“ The West is so stupid, mother.” 

“ Your uncle wanted us to go with him,” said Mrs. 
Stoddard in a tone of resignation. “ He has asked 
us so many times I felt that we simply could not 
refuse.” 

Larry Livingston had been holding aloof from 
the conversation. He acted like a man whose soul 
is burdened with discontent, as indeed his was. A 


“WHY DID SADIE CRY? 


235 


secret was in his breast, but he must not tell it, and 
this to Larry was a form of cruel and unusual pun- 
ishment. Often Larry’s glance wandered toward 
the place where Sadie was hidden among the trees, 
and when Stoddard intercepted it on one occasion he 
frowned heavily and shook his head in warning. 

“ Tell Jack about Mrs. Westfall, mother,” sug- 
gested Betty. 

“You know the Westfalls, John?” said Mrs. 
Stoddard. 

“ Don’t think I do. I’ve heard the name.” 

“ Mrs. Westfall went to school with Betty. We 
don’t see much of her now, of course; they live over 
in New Jersey somewhere. But she is at the hotel 
here.” 

“ Sensible woman,” commented Stoddard. 

“ Well, she doesn’t think so. She has just been 
through a most terrible experience and says she never 
wants to see the country again. Why, it was a posi- 
tively unheard-of thing ! It makes me nervous every 
time I think of it, and I shall not be in peace of 
mind until we have left. Have you heard about the 
lunatic? ” 

“Where? Here?” 

“ Right here at this place,” said Mrs. Stoddard 
with an involuntary shiver. 

Stoddard shook his head. 

“ Haven’t met him,” he observed. “ Unless it’s 
Larry. He carries on once in a while.” 

Livingston merely scowled. 

“ Well, Mrs. Westfall had a most harrowing ex- 
perience,” said Mrs. Stoddard. “The poor little 


MISTER 44 ” 


236 

thing is still upset over it. You know, her husband, 
Dick Westfall, and her brother have been here for 
several weeks, camping. She came on to join them. 
She arrived two or three evenings ago, and they were 
late in getting to the train. 

“The thing happened at the station. It’s un- 
believable ! It seems that she had no sooner gotten 
off the train than a wild man rushed up to her and 
began shouting something about a mistake having 
been made. Then he seized her by the arm and 
began dragging her along the platform. She was 
absolutely helpless. She was too frightened even to 
scream.” 

Mrs. Stoddard paused to shudder, while her son 
stared. So this was the girl he had hustled from 
the inbound to the outbound train, thinking she was 
Sadie ! 

“ It seems there was another train at the station,” 
said Mrs. Stoddard, resuming. “ He dragged her 
to this train and flung her aboard as it was start- 
ing. Then he threw her baggage after her and 
yelled something about writing. And then she was 
carried away! ” 

“ Huh ! ” said Stoddard mechanically. 

“ It was a mercy, of course, that he did not stran- 
gle her. She was so utterly stupefied that she re- 
mained sitting on the car-platform until the conduc- 
tor found her.” 

“ And what became of her? ” ventured Stoddard, 
trying to make his tone casual. 

“ That is another extraordinary part of it. The 
insane man had thrown into her lap an envelope. 


WHY DID SADIE CRY? 


When she opened it she found a railroad ticket to 
Toronto, a Pullman berth — and fifty dollars! ” 

“ He must have been insane ! ” 

“ Beyond all question,” declared Mrs. Stoddard 
emphatically. 

“ Does she describe him? ” He spoke in a whis- 
per. 

“ That’s another difficulty. She cannot. She 
was too completely bewildered and terrified. She 
simply knows he was a large man, roughly dressed, 
and possessed of tremendous strength. That’s all 
she can recollect.” 

“ Didn’t anybody else see him?” apprehensively. 

“ They haven’t found anybody yet. But they are 
looking, of course.” 

“ Where are they looking? ” 

“ All over,” broke in Livingston. “ There were 
a couple of men here this afternoon after your 
mother left. Forest rangers, they said they were. 
They wanted to know if I had seen anything of an 
escaped lunatic, and said there were a lot of men out 
in the woods looking for him.” 

Stoddard’s face went blank as this intelligence 
reached his ears. 

“ Mr. Westfall is offering a reward,” added Mrs. 
Stoddard. “ They have already brought two or 
three men down to the hotel to see if Mrs. West- 
fall could identify them, but she was quite sure none 
of them was the man. 

“ They say they will be able to get him before 
long. But until they do everybody is terribly ex- 
cited and frightened. Imagine a creature like that 


238 “MISTER 44 ” 

at large! Why, he might be hiding on this very 
island — now ! ” 

“ And what happened to Mrs. Westfall after the 
conductor found her? ” Stoddard risked, controlling 
his voice with an effort. 

“ She couldn’t get a train back that night, so she 
went clear through to Toronto. Meantime she tele- 
graphed her husband, and he went down and brought 
her up here. She didn’t want to come at all, poor 
thing. But they needed her here in case they caught 
the man, so she could identify him.” 

“ I see,” said Stoddard slowly. 

His brain was whirling, but he managed to keep 
an appearance of outward calm. The rangers were 
looking for him ! He was a hunted man ! 

“ Weren’t they able to get any clue at the sta- 
tion? ” he asked. 

“ Nothing that has helped, it appears. The 
ticket-agent at Deepwater doesn’t remember who 
bought the ticket and the berth.” 

Stoddard wondered if they had questioned Billy 
Mason, the station-master. If so Billy, who was a 
friend of his, had clearly been shielding him, for 
Billy knew of Stoddard’s actions, and he was the 
only one who did. But Billy’s silence merely added 
to the seriousness of the thing. If Billy had chosen 
to shield, rather than to explain, he must have had 
grave reasons. 

“ But what are they going to do to this man if 
they get him? ” he asked. “ Is it a crime to put a 
woman on a train and give her a ticket and money? ” 

“ I am sure I don’t know whether it is a crime or 


WHY DID SADIE CRY? 


239 


not,” said his mother. “ That, of course, has noth- 
ing to do with it. The man is wanted so he can be 
sent back to whatever asylum he escaped from.” 

“ That’s so; I was forgetting he was a nut.” 

“ I wish you wouldn’t use such words, John,” said 
Mrs. Stoddard, frowning. 

“ All right, mother; I’ll call him a bug. And how 
much reward is Westfall offering? ” 

“ It’s only a hundred dollars, but they say it looks 
as large as a thousand to most of the men who are 
out hunting for the creature.” 

Stoddard knew that was true. For a hundred 
dollars they would comb the Deepwater country to 
its uttermost recesses. It was a temptation even to 
Billy Mason, who was obviously in a position to 
collect the reward if he wished. He decided he 
would have to see Billy himself; he might, in fact, 
have to pay the reward — privately. 

“ All of the men at the hotel,” volunteered Betty, 
“ are going armed, and the rangers are carrying 
guns, too.” 

“ It’s against the law! ” Stoddard exclaimed. 

“ Well, they say it is different in this case. That 
while it is against the law to shoot animals, it’s all 
right to shoot a lunatic.” 

Betty looked up at her brother with an emphatic 
nod and added: 

“ He ought to be shot, too, and he probably will 
be, because they say he’s so big and strong that it 
would take several men to capture him alive. I 
don’t believe even you could manage him, Jack, and 
you’re big enough, goodness knows! Dolly West- 


2 4 o 41 MISTER 44 ” 

fall says he has all the strength of an insane 
man.” 

“ Is she an expert on lunatics? ” 

“ A person doesn’t have to be when somebody 
picks them up and throws them twenty or thirty feet 
aboard a rapidly moving train.” 

Stoddard opened his eyes wide. 

“ Did she say that? ” he asked in an awed voice. 

“ I think Betty exaggerates a little,” explained his 
mother. “ But it was a very perilous experience, 
and, coming right after an attack of nervous pros- 
tration, it was enough to frighten any woman to 
death.” 

“ I’m sorry,” murmured Stoddard, absent mind- 
edly. 

“Sorry!” echoed Betty. “Why should you be 
sorry? ” 

“ Sorry for Mrs. Westfall, I mean,” he exclaimed 
hastily. “ It’s too bad to have her get such an im- 
pression of the country on her first trip.” 

“ Is it her first trip, mother? ” asked Betty. “ I 
didn’t remember her saying that.” 

Stoddard chewed his lip in dismay at his clumsi- 
ness. He suddenly remembered that this bit of 
information had come from Sadie, who learned it 
first-hand from the stranger on the train. 

“ I don’t recall that she mentioned it was her first 
trip,” said Mrs. Stoddard. “ Did I say so, John? ” 

“ I thought you did,” he answered. “ Maybe I 
misunderstood you.” 

“ Well,” declared Betty after a brief pause, dur- 
ing which she studied the rugged figure of her 


“WHY DID SADIE CRY? 


241 


brother, “ if I were a man I wouldn’t waste time 
being sorry. I’d get a gun and go out and shoot the 
lunatic. Have you a gun, Jack? ” 

“ Never carry one up here. It’s foolishness.” 

“ You won’t think so if you meet a maniac and 
you’re all alone in the woods. Ugh! ” 

“ He is not likely to meet him,” remarked Mrs. 
Stoddard quietly. “ Not unless he sees him to- 
night.” 

Stoddard looked at his mother for an explanation. 

“ We are expecting you to join our party to-mor- 
row,” she added. 

“ Oh, out of the question! ” he exclaimed. “ Im- 
possible, mother! ” 

“ But why? We planned it as part of the sur- 
prise.” 

“ Why? ” he repeated. “ Why, because — ” 

He thought of the girl hidden in the woods a few 
yards distant. 

“ Because I’m up here for the woods, that’s why. 
And I’m carrying out the doctor’s prescription for 
Larry. That’s another reason.” 

“ But Larry has said he will go with us.” 

Stoddard turned a baleful look upon Livingston. 

“ Did you? ” he demanded. 

“Why not?” said Larry. “It’ll be a lot more 
fun than this.” 

“ But your doctor — ” 

“ A lot that worries you, Stod. You disappear 
forty-eight hours at a time and then preach about 
having to take care of me.” 

“ Well, you had John.” 


242 


“ MISTER 44 ” 


“ That makes no difference. Anyhow, I’m not 
strong for this primitive-man business. I’ve had 
enough of it.” 

“ Larry is sensible,” affirmed Mrs. Stoddard, 
nodding. 

“ Larry’s an idiot,” observed her son. “ But of 
course he can go if he wants to.” 

“ I’m not keen about running into this wild man 
from Borneo,” said Livingston. “ I’m no hero.” 

“ I guess that private car sounds good to 
you, Larry. Go ahead. But I’m going to stay 
here.” 

Mrs. Stoddard was plainly annoyed. 

“ Be reasonable, my son,” she said as patiently 
as she could. “ We have counted on you to come 
and we shall be greatly disappointed if you refuse. 
Betty has already written to the Wallaces that we 
expect you. And as I mentioned before Estelle will 
be with them.” 

She watched the effect of this; then resumed: 

“ We shall be short of men if you don’t come. 
Estelle will be looking for you. You always did 
like Estelle, John.” 

“Sure; she’s a nice girl,” he responded per- 
functorily. “ But you’ve got Larry now. He can 
look after Estelle.” 

Betty knitted her forehead. She was not entirely 
sure about that. 

“ It’s going to be a beautiful trip,” continued Mrs. 
Stoddard, “ and the Wallaces are delightful people. 
Your uncle suggested that we bring you. He’s ex- 
pecting you.” 


WHY DID SADIE CRY? 


“ He’ll be disappointed, then. I can’t go, 
mother.” 

“ But why?” 

“ Because I came up here for the woods.” 

“ But what is there to keep you here? ” 

“ The woods.” 

Mrs. Stoddard tried to cover her exasperation. 
Already she scented defeat; she knew of old her 
son’s will. 

“ It’s a reason that does not appeal to me, I ad- 
mit,” she said as her glance swept about the camp. 
“ Surely you get enough of this, John, when your 
business calls you ! Sometimes you’re away from us 
for a year and more. 

“ I should think you’d be utterly weary of it. But 
now that you have leisure you must run straight into 
your woods again. There isn’t a thing to keep you 
here except your own whim. Your business doesn’t 
call you here; there is nothing whatever to compel 
you to stay.” 

Stoddard mumbled something about the woods 
and shrugged his big shoulders. He never had been 
able to make his mother understand; and now that 
she had viewed his much-praised Deepwater with- 
out discovering the reason he had no hope that she 
would ever see it. There was another reason, too 
— concealed in the darkness beyond the rim of the 
firelight; that also was something she would not 
understand. 

“ Let’s drop it, mother,” he said. “ I can’t go.” 

Mrs. Stoddard and her daughter exchanged 
glances and sighed. 


244 


“ MISTER 44 ” 

u Betty,” said her mother, “ you must telegraph 
Estelle in the morning.” 

Stoddard shot a look of inquiry. 

“ Estelle was coming part of the way to meet us,” 
explained Mrs. Stoddard. u But now — ” 

She made a dainty gesture of despair. 

“ Oh ! ” said her son. 

For some time he had been aware that his mother 
was tentatively mapping the future of Estelle Wal- 
lace in conjunction with his own, and he had re- 
garded the occupation with tolerant amusement. 
Now it was obvious she was beginning to embellish 
her chart with details. He loved his mother; he 
admired her tremendously; he hated to disappoint 
her. But Stoddard was the cartographer of his own 
destinies. 

“ You go down on the evening train to-morrow? ” 
he asked. 

“ Probably. Our car is on the siding here. It is 
possible, though, that your uncle may arrange for a 
special engine, in which case we may go earlier.” 

Betty, who had begun to yawn, suggested that it 
was time to start back for the hotel. As she arose 
from her seat her brother slipped an arm around her 
shoulders and whispered: 

“ Get mother to cut that Estelle business out, 
Bet.” 

“ I’m mad at you,” said Betty petulantly. 
“ You’re mean ! And you are soiling my gown with 
those horrid hands.” 

He laughed, hugged her close to his grimy 
clothes, and kissed her. 


WHY DID SADIE CRY? 


245 


As they were reembarking Mrs. Stoddard told 
Larry that they would call for him on the morrow, 
for they would use the special launch to take them 
to Deepwater Station. Her disappointment at the 
failure to lure her son away from the woods did 
not prevent her from bidding him a warm good-by. 
Although he often exasperated her she was glor- 
iously proud and fond of him. 

Back in her sylvan refuge Sadie sat listening to the 
steadily waning sound of the motor-boat exhaust. 
She was glad the darkness hid her, for she had been 
crying. 

She had seen and she had heard, and her mind 
was troubled. She felt that something was aching 
within her breast. The big outdoors no longer 
seemed so friendly. The vision that had filled her 
with wonder was slipping away. It had been only 
a dream, after all. 

She was stifling the last faint sob when Stoddard 
groped his way into the tangle and led her back to 
the camp-fire. She went slowly and reluctantly, and 
when he turned to look at her she averted her 
eyes. 

“ What’s the matter, Sadie? ” he asked. 

“ Nothing.” 

He turned her about so that the light fell upon 
her face. 

“Why, Sadie! You’ve been crying! ” 

“I’m — I’m tired.” 

“You poor kid! Of course you are! It was a 
shame to leave you there so long.” 


246 


MISTER 44 


“ That’s all right. You couldn’t help it. I’m 
just tired.” 

Her body sagged wearily and her head drooped 
as Stoddard led her to the tent. 

“ Good night,” he said. “ You’ll be all right to- 
morrow.” 

u I guess so,” Sadie replied. “ Good night.” 

Down by the fire he found an indignant Larry. 

“You’ve given her the tent, have you?” he de- 
manded. 

“ Why, certainly.” 

“ And what about me ? ” 

“ You can curl up out here, as John and I are 
going to do,” replied Stoddard shortly. “ Don’t be 
such a fusser, Larry. You’ll be bunking in a sixty- 
thousand-dollar private car to-morrow night, with a 
porter to wait on you. Dream about that for a 
change.” 

Stoddard was in no mood for anything but 
thought. He was puzzled and disturbed. Sadie 
wasn’t tired, he knew. Why did she cry? 


CHAPTER XVII 


LARRY TAKES A HAND 

B REAKFAST was a silent and cheerless cere- 
mony. John, the Indian, was taciturn 
from habit. Larry was surly because he 
had been deprived even of the poor luxury of the 
tent. Stoddard said little because his mind was still 
trying to fathom a troubling problem. 

As for Sadie, she was in a mood utterly new to 
her — a mood which had the effect of placing a seal 
upon her tongue. It was a wrong way to eat break- 
fast when a September morning in the Deepwater is 
trembling and joyous with the promise of a wondrous 
day; but thus the meal passed. 

Stoddard was watching Sadie furtively. Some- 
thing was wrong, beyond all question; but while he 
sensed in a hazy way the cause of the trouble it 
presented no clear outlines to him. It had some- 
thing to do with the visit of his mother and sister, 
he felt sure, but beyond that his diagnosis failed. 
Of her own choice Sadie had avoided a meeting; she 
had demanded to be hidden. He could not see, 
therefore, that her banishment into the woods dur- 
ing their call furnished a cause of offense. 

Sadie avoided his eyes. Most of the time she 
stared steadily at the ground in front of her; oc- 
casionally she glanced out at the silver water; but 
247 


248 “ MISTER 44 ” 

never, save by accident, did she meet Stoddard’s 
look. 

Breakfast over, she wandered slowly down to the 
water’s edge, then followed the shore aimlessly. 
All the buoyancy seemed to have gone from her, for 
she walked in tired, listless fashion, her head bent 
forward, her arms swinging idly at her sides. 
Chirping birds and chattering chipmunks had no in- 
terest for her, nor did the freshness of the morning 
awaken her spirits as of old. 

After an interval Stoddard followed. She was 
sitting with her back against a dead stump, close to 
the shore, when he first sighted her. Her eyes were 
half-closed; she appeared to be quite oblivious of 
her environment. He watched her for a moment; 
then approached quietly. Not until he had seated 
himself a few feet away did she glance at him, and 
then it was for the briefest interval. 

“ Let’s have a talk, Sadie,” he said. 

She made no answer, but played with a strand of 
hair that lay across her lap. 

“ Something’s gone wrong,” he went on. “ I 
understand that, of course. But I don’t know just 
what it is. If it’s my fault I want to apologize and 
tell you how sorry I am. What is it, Sadie? ” 

“ It ain’t anything,” she answered dully. 

“ That’s not frank. It has to be something. 
Let’s have it out. You and I can’t go on in this 
fashion, Sadie.” 

She looked at him inquiringly. 

“ We’re too good pals for that,” he added. 
“We can’t have any misunderstandings. Tell me 


LARRY TAKES A HAND 


249 


what it is. Has it something to do with last night? ” 

“ Maybe.” She spoke reluctantly. 

“ Is it because you didn’t meet my mother and 
Betty?” 

She shook her head. 

“ You said you didn’t want to, you know.” 

“ It ain’t that,” she answered. 

He waited a little for her to go on, but Sadie had 
again relapsed into brooding silence. 

u Then what is it that makes you angry with 
me? ” 

u I ain’t angry,” she said hastily and with a note 
of alarm. “ Honest I ain’t.” 

“ What, then?” 

She looked at him appealingly. 

“ Oh, it ain’t worth botherin’ about, I guess,” she 
murmured. “ Only I ain’t angry.” 

“ You may as well tell me now,” said Stoddard, 
“ because I’m not going to leave until you do. So 
go ahead.” 

Sadie clasped her hands about her knees and 
studied a rock that jutted through the moss at her 
feet. 

“ I’m — I’m just hurt,” she said slowly. 

“About something that happened last night? ” 

She nodded. 

“ You heard us talking, I suppose? ” 

“ That’s it. I couldn’t help hearin’. And I wish 
I hadn’t.” 

“ Go on, Sadie.” 

“ It ain’t easy to say,” she faltered. “ You been 
so kind to me I ain’t got a right to complain. And 


250 


44 MISTER 44 ” 


I ain’t complainin’, either. Only it seemed — 
Well, you didn’t ever have a job in sight for me.” 

“That’s true; I didn’t. Go on.” 

“And you ain’t got any way of gettin’ me one, 
like I thought,” she mused. “ Because — well, be- 
cause you ain’t got any interests here. Your mother 
said that.” 

“ Not the kind of interests you thought,” he ad- 
mitted. 

“ And, you see, that’s the trouble,” said Sadie. 
“You let me go on thinkin’ different. And when I 
found out last night, why ■ — * ” 

She ended . the sentence with a shrug. 

“You felt I hadn’t played fair. Isn’t that it?” 

“ I won’t say it wasn’t fair,” she answered. “ I 
guess you did it to save my feelin’s. You didn’t 
want me to feel disappointed.” 

“ That’s true. But just the same I intended to 
do all I could — and still intend to, Sadie.” 

“ It all comes, I guess, from misunderstandin’ 
your letter,” she went on after a pause. “ You see, 
I didn’t know you was just — just playin’ up here. 
I thought you belonged. You oughta have told me 
when I came.” 

“ It would have saved a misunderstanding,” he 
admitted. 

“ Can I ask something?” she ventured. 

“ Of course.” 

“ What was you thinkin’ when you wrote that 
letter? I mean, about me? ” 

“ I thought you were a girl with a beautiful 
dream.” 


LARRY TAKES A HAND 


251 


u And you didn’t want to wake me up.” 

“ I suppose that’s about it.” 

“ But it was a case where I’d oughta been waked 
up.” 

She looked at him steadily for a minute, and when 
he remained silent she added: 

“ You woke up, but I didn’t.” 

“ How do you mean? ” 

“ You woke up after you got my telegram. You 
were goin’ to send me back. I heard about that, too. 
Your mother told about the woman at the station; 
I knew it was the one I met. And you thought she 
was me.” 

Stoddard nodded. 

“ I guess you had the right idea. You knew it 
was all a mistake and you figured to get me out of it 
quick. I ain’t blamin’ you. I ain’t got a right to. 
Only — ” 

Involuntarily she laid a hand against her breast. 

“ — Only it just sort of hurts — to find it out.” 

He was silent. What could he say? Sadie at 
last understood what he had been trying to conceal 
from her. He might have known that the truth 
would discover itself eventually. 

Stoddard felt ashamed, yet he was glad that the 
fiction had been wiped out. It was easier for Sadie 
in the end. 

As he watched her he became conscious of a 
quickening of his pulse. The little droop at the 
corners of her mouth was new to him, and strangely 
attractive. It suggested sadness a little, but sweet- 
ness far more. 


252 


“MISTER 44” 


The pink of the dawn was in her cheeks, the 
glowing glory of the sunrise in her hair. There 
was a mist of tenderness and yearning in her eyes. 
She was wonderful, beautiful — and he had 
wounded her! 

“ What can I say, Sadie? ” 

She looked at him with a faint smile. 

“ I’ll say anything — do anything — if you’ll for- 
give me ! I didn’t mean to hurt you. Why, I 
couldn’t hurt you, Sadie ! ” 

“ I know you meant it for the best,” she mur- 
mured. “ I was foolish. Only it did hurt.” 

“Yes; I can see it now. But it was all because . 
I didn’t know, until I found you that night at the 
station, that you were you. Don’t you see that? ” 

“ You mean — ” 

“ I mean,” he said, talking rapidly, “ that every- 
thing changed then. You must know that. Why 
did I let you go on thinking about the job you were 
to get? Because I was afraid to hurt you. Why 
do you think I didn’t send you back, after I did find 
you — as I sent the other woman? ” 

He saw the color slowly flooding her face and 
throat. 

“ Did you suppose I could send you back when 
I had seen you? ” 

Sadie was trembling. Her eyes would not meet 
his glance. She was frightened — and happy. 
She was afraid to listen — but her ears were 
strangely eager. 

Now he was leaning forward and his great, brown 
hand had imprisoned one of hers. 


LARRY TAKES A HAND 


253 


“Sadie! Look at me!” 

She would not. There was a tear glistening on 
her cheek. 

“Why, Sadie!” 

His voice had grown husky and his own hand 
was shaking. Revelation had come to Stoddard 
within the moment; it startled and thrilled him. 

He was standing now and both her hands were 
in his as he slowly drew her to her feet. For a little 
1 they stood thus in silence. Then she slowly raised 
her head and looked at him bravely through brim- 
ming eyes. 

“ You wonderful — ” 

The sound of a footstep on the rocks checked his 
speech. Stoddard turned swiftly and saw Larry 
Livingston standing a few yards distant. With a 
little cry Sadie released her hands and fell back a 
step. Then she fled in sudden panic. 

Stoddard glared at the intruder, who, with a 
shadowy smile on his lips, advanced. 

“ I beg your pardon,” said Larry. “ I 
didn’t — ” 

“ Oh, shut up ! ” 

“ It was entirely an accident, Stod.” 

“ There’s nothing to talk about,” said Stoddard 
curtly. 

“ Clumsy of me, I know ; but — ” 

“ Go to the devil! ” 

Stoddard whirled about and strode in the direction 
of the camp. 

Livingston watched him until a bend of the shore 
hid his figure from sight. He stood smiling for a 


254 “MISTER 44” 

moment, then his face became serious. Larry was 
thinking. 

Several times he frowned and shook his head. 
He glanced in the opposite direction. Sadie also 
had disappeared. For a little time Larry appeared 
hesitant. 

“ Useless to talk to him,” he muttered. “ But — 
oh, Lord!” 

Then he began following the path Sadie had 
taken. 

It was several minutes before he found her, down 
at the farther point of the island. She did not hear 
him until he was very close; then she glanced about 
timidly, but with the same light in her eyes as that 
which Stoddard had seen. 

It faded in a flash when she recognized Larry, 
and in its place came a look of weariness and sus- 
picion and defiance. 

“ Beautiful morning,” he said tentatively. 

Sadie, instinctively cautious, weighed this obser- 
vation carefully before admitting that it was. 

For a minute or two, Larry spoke commonplaces 
and received answers, when they were required, that 
consisted of monosyllables. Sadie knew he had not 
found her by accident. Behind the cloak of his per- 
functory talk was something concealed, she instantly 
divined. His words were the mere patter of a stage 
magician manipulating his cloth. 

Sadie was in no patient mood. She hated this 
friend of No. 44’s and distrusted him, although she 
did not fear him. He was still aimlessly talking 
when she interrupted him sharply: 


LARRY TAKES A HAND 


255 

“ Let’s have it straight,” she said. “ What do 
you want to say to me ? ” 

“ Well, I don’t want to offend you,” he answered, 
studying her face narrowly, “ but I wanted to say 
something about Stoddard.” 

“Well?” 

“ And you,” he added, pausing to watch the ef- 
fect. 

“ Say it, then.” 

Give Larry credit for this : He had the courage 
of his meddlesomeness. 

“ Stoddard is very fond of you,” he said quietly. 

“Did he say so?” Sadie controlled her voice 
with difficulty. 

“ Oh, no. I shouldn’t think of discussing it with 
him. Certainly he would not mention it to me.” 

She did not need to be told that. 

“ I imagine that you are rather fond of him,” 
Larry continued. 

Sadie’s face was flushed, more in anger than em- 
barrassment. To her this was like vandalism in 
some sacred temple. But she checked the retort 
that was on her lips and waited. She wanted to 
understand more. 

“ I did not intentionally intrude a little while 
ago,” said Larry, speaking smoothly. “ I would 
like to have you know that.” 

She believed he lied, but made no comment. 

“ I understood even before then,” he went on. 
“ Now, of course, you may think this is something I 
have no right to talk about. But Stod is a friend 
of mine, so I’ve taken the liberty.” 


2 56 


MISTER 44 ” 


“ I notice that. Go ahead.’’ 

“ Thank you. I’m going to assume as a basis for 
what I say that you are very fond of Stoddard. 
Wait! I’m going to make it as short as possible 
and I’m not going to ask you to do anything but 
think about what I tell you. If you do care for him 
it does you credit. He is a fine fellow and he is 
worthy of anybody. 

“ Stoddard comes of a very old New York 
family. His people are not only wealthy, but their 
social position is exceptional. You have seen his 
mother and his sister. I think you understand with- 
out anything more being said in reference to that. 

“ Their world is the one in which he has been 
reared and to which he is accustomed. He is a man 
of education. He has already done brilliant work in 
his profession and he has a big future ahead of 
him. His family — his mother — worship him. 
They think more of his career, probably, than of 
any other thing in this world.” 

Livingston seemed to be at a loss to proceed. 

“ It’s rather difficult to say what I had in mind.” 

“You mean about me?” asked Sadie steadily. 

He nodded. 

“ You needn’t say it if you don’t want to. I un- 
derstand. You mean I’m different from him. I’m 
ignorant. I don’t talk right. I ain’t got a social 
position. I’m a factory hand. 

“ That’s all right; I know it. It’s said now. Go 
ahead.” 

Larry sighed softly. The bridge had been 
crossed. 


LARRY TAKES A HAND 


2 57 


“ None of those things are to your discredit in 
any way, you understand,” he said. “ I don’t want 
you to think that.” 

“ You can cut that stuff out,” said Sadie quietly. 
“ I ain’t lookin’ for sympathy. If I wanted to find 
it I’d get a dictionary. Just pass that and go on.” 

“ Well, what I just wanted to put before you 
was this: Take a man like Stoddard, with all that 
he is and all that he can be. Take a girl — well, 
like yourself. 

“ Assume they love each other. Assume that this 
man should desire to marry this woman. Assume 
that he tells her so.” 

Sadie waited grimly. She knew it was shameful, 
this cold, impersonal vivisection of a thing that 
breathed with life and love, but she had steeled 
herself to hear him out. 

“ In that case,” Livingston said slowly, “ and as- 
suming always that she had a real love for this man 
— and love means sacrifice — what would this 
woman do? ” 

He paused, but not as if he expected an answer 
from her. 

“ That’s what I want you to think about,” he 
added as he turned away. “ Thank you for listen- 
ing.” 

He walked steadily until he had gone from her 
sight, unhurried and methodically, like a man con- 
scious of a duty properly performed. 

An hour later Sadie was still sitting where he 
had left her. She was looking out across the water, 
where the bluff shores of the mainland lifted their 


25 8 “MISTER 44” 

ragged summits against the sky, but she saw noth- 
ing of her big outdoors. She was looking only into 
her soul. Her eyes were calm and clear, her face 
peaceful. Now and then her lips moved without 
sound. 

“What would this woman do?” they were say- 
ing. 

Then: 

“ I know.” 

Back in the camp Livingston found Stoddard 
smoking in grim silence. He made no effort to draw 
him into conversation and Stoddard paid not the 
slightest attention to his presence. 

The big man’s mind was filled with a vision that 
his almost forbidding expression did not even faintly 
reflect. He looked angry and unhappy, but he was 
not. He was serious, but very content. 

Something that had troubled and baffled him had 
suddenly become clear. The road was open and 
just beyond the turn was happiness. Presently he 
would overtake it. He could wait a little. What 
mattered an hour or so now, when a lifetime lay 
ahead? 

Stoddard scarcely raised his eyes when Larry an- 
nounced that the launch from the hotel was in sight, 
"and he did not move from his place until it neared 
the landing. Then he arose slowly, knocked the 
ashes from his pipe, and went to meet his mother 
and Betty. 

“ They telephoned us from the station that your 
uncle has arranged for a special locomotive,” said 


LARRY TAKES A HAND 


259 


Mrs. Stoddard as she greeted him. “ So we are 
going now.” 

Larry, eager to be off, had already climbed into 
the launch. 

“ Won’t you change your mind, John? ” 

Stoddard shook his head. 

“ No, mother. Thanks, awfully. I’m going to 
stay here a while.” 

“Alone?” 

“I’ve got John for company — the other John; 
although I’m pretty good company for myself.” 

“ The lunatic is still roaming,” volunteered Betty. 

“ No news of him, eh? ” 

“ One of the men at the hotel thought he heard 
him yelling off in the woods somewhere, but they 
haven’t found him.” 

“ More likely a loon than a lunatic,” commented 
her brother with a laugh. 

“ At least you’ll come to the station with us,” 
pleaded Mrs. Stoddard. 

He had not planned to do that. But he could 
give no good reason for refusing. After all, it 
merely meant a few hours. Then he would come 
back and — 

“ Surely,” he said. “ Wait a minute.” 

The Indian was dozing the forenoon away, up by 
the camp-fire. Stoddard went to where he sat and 
shook him by the shoulder. 

“ I’m going up to the station,” he said, dropping 
his voice to a low key. “ Tell the lady I will be 
back. Put yourself at her orders and take good 
care of her.” 


26o 


MISTER 44 


John nodded and resumed his doze. 

The launch swung away from the island, with 
Stoddard aboard and his canoe towing astern. 

Mrs. Stoddard did not revert directly to the de- 
sire of her heart, which was to tear her son away 
from this uncouth wilderness and carry him back to 
the life luxurious. But she did talk of Estelle Wal- 
lace — casually always, yet persistently and adroitly. 
It was astonishing how easily Estelle slipped into 
the conversation. At first Stoddard paid no atten- 
tion ; later he found himself listening in quiet amuse- 
ment at his mother’s skill. 

At Deepwater Station Stoddard, excusing himself 
for a moment, sought Billy Mason, the station- 
master, and drew him into a secluded corner. 
Looking him steadily in the eye, Stoddard asked : 

“ Are you hunting a lunatic for a reward, Billy? ” 

Mason’s eyes squinted and twinkled. 

“ I guess I could find him if I needed the money,” 
he chuckled. 

“ Does anybody else know? ” 

“ I don’t think so.” 

“ Well, I made an awful mistake, Billy. But for 
heaven’s sake don’t give me away. You won’t lose 
a cent.” 

“ Oh, I knew there was some mistake, Mr. Stod- 
dard. But I was fooling about that reward. 
Lord, I wouldn’t give you away ! ” 

“ Just the same I’ll see you don’t lose anything,” 
declared Stoddard, gripping the stationmaster’s 
hand. “ Just forget you ever saw or heard any- 
thing.” 


LARRY TAKES A HAND 


261 


“ Sure thing.” 

Uncle Harry’s private car, into which Mrs. Stod- 
dard, Betty, and Larry Livingston had already fled 
that they might escape from an unwelcome world, 
was fitted much after the manner of a steam-yacht 
on wheels. If not actually the last word in luxury, 
certainly it belonged somewhere in the last para- 
graph. 

To this trio of travelers the sensation of board- 
ing it once more was like that of a return to the 
Garden of Eden. To Stoddard, who followed them 
after his interview with Billy Mason, it was a 
sybaritic irritation. He did not despise comfort, 
nor even luxury; but in the woods-country these 
things were of a different kind. 

Larry had already retired to the stateroom as- 
signed to him and was effecting a change of costume, 
having recovered the clothes he had checked in his 
grip at Deepwater Station. 

There was a delay in departure that was intermin- 
able to Stoddard. The special engine did not ap- 
pear for more than an hour, and after this came a 
long wait for telegraphic orders and the clearance 
of a right of way. 

Mrs. Stoddard and Betty found their son and 
brother indifferent company. He was preoccupied, 
talked in a rambling, absent-minded fashion, and 
evinced little interest in the trip concerning which 
they poured forth pleasing predictions. He wanted 
to be off and away to his island and what awaited 
him there. 

It was midafternoon when the car pulled out, in 


262 


“ MISTER 44 ” 


the presence of a group of interested loungers. 
The parting between Stoddard and Livingston was 
of the briefest character. The former was still 
harboring his resentment at the incident of the morn- 
ing, and Larry did not venture reference to it. 

There was, however, a quiet smile on his lips as 
he joined Mrs. Stoddard and Betty on the rear plat- 
form and waved a good-by to the big man who stood 
in the middle of the track, looking after them. 
Larry believed he had played a part in guiding 
Destiny. In his narrow way he was shrewd; he had 
confidence in his own judgment of human nature. 

Stoddard did not wait for the car to disappear 
from sight, but went down to the landing, where his 
canoe lay, and began his ten-mile journey down the 
Northeast Arm. It was midafternoon. 

He neither hurried nor loafed, but laid to his 
work methodically, his head bent and his mind filled 
only with thoughts of the wonderful thing that had 
come into his life. He was glad to be alone. 

Two hours later he sprang ashore Upon the island 
and hurried up to the camp. Neither Sadie nor 
John was there. With eager steps he set off along 
the shore. She would be somewhere by the water’s 
edge, he knew, watching her wonder-country. 
What he would say he did not know; there was no 
speech framed on his lips. He knew only that the 
wo, ^s would come when he found her. 

A complete circuit of the island brought him back 
to the camp with no sign of Sadie. He raised his 
voice in a halloo, but no answer came. Then he 
noticed that the Indian’s canoe was missing. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


THE FLIGHT 

W HEN Stoddard had satisfied himself 
that he was the sole tenant of the 
island his state of mind was anything 
but placid. His immediate sensation was that of 
disappointment. He was impatient now. He 
feared, too, for what she must think of him — a 
laggard in love. 

For Sadie, he knew, understood what was on his 
lips and had been waiting for it tremulously; he had 
seen that in her eyes, had felt it in the warm clasp 
of her fingers. -He cursed Livingston for a mar- 
plot; he cursed himself for having fled with his love 
unspoken. 

It was not until an hour passed and the sunset 
had come that he began to be alarmed. John had 
doubtless taken her fishing somewhere in the birch- 
bark canoe, he knew; but it was past time for them 
to return. What delayed them? 

For the first time he was experiencing the appre- 
hensions that can flood the mind of an uneasy lover. 
He had visions of mishaps to a frail canoe. He 
thought of every conceivable disaster that might be- 
fall the traveler in the Deepwater country. He 
pictured Sadie in the grip of some unhappy and 
263 


264 


“ MISTER 44 ” 


perilous circumstance, and the fact that John was 
careful and competent did not serve to lighten his 
forebodings. 

When he could stand the suspense no longer he 
leaped into his canoe and made a reconnaissance. 
Whither to go, however, he could not tell, so his 
search consisted merely of a trip around the island, 
which brought him back to the landing-place with no 
glimpse of the missing ones nor the birch-bark craft. 
The red ball of the sun was hidden now and the 
shadows were long and gray. 

He fell to pacing the narrow limits of the camp 
like a creature in a cage. He tried to tell himself 
that this was a childish anxiety laying hold upon 
him; yet he could not shake it off. He wanted to 
seek her, but was helpless even to make a start. 

Once he thought of the hotel. Perhaps she had 
bidden John to take her thither. Yet in the same 
instant he doubted that she would go without him. 

Stoddard was still enchained by futile worry when 
a glance toward the lake showed him the Indian’s 
canoe approaching the island. He bounded to the 
water’s edge and waited. 

As it drew close something like a chill swept over 
him. There was nobody in the canoe save John, 
smoking unconcernedly and wielding his paddle 
lazily. 

Stoddard called across the stretch of water and 
waved his arms wildly. The Indian put down his 
pipe and quickened his pace. 

“Where is she?” cried Stoddard as the canoe 
neared the island. 


THE FLIGHT 


265 


“ Gone,” answered John unemotionally. 

“ Gone ! ” 

“Sure!” 

u Gone where? What do you mean? ” 

“ You got letter? ” 

“No!” 

“ She left letter,” remarked the Indian as his 
canoe touched the rock. 

“Where is it?” 

“ Tent.” 

Stoddard dashed up the bank. Crossing the 
camp-clearing in leaps, he flung aside the flap of the 
light canvas shelter and dived within. 

Lying on the blankets was a folded paper, 
weighted with a little stone. He seized it and 
carried it outside, for the light within the tent was 
too dim for reading. 

Sadie had written: 

Dear Friend: 

Im going away Jack — its the best way I guess. Their 
dont seem to be any jobs up here like I thought and you 
musent bother trying to get one for me, now I wont be here. 

I guess a girl has got to work in the city But I aint sorry 
I came up here Jack I hope its all right for me to call you 
that, its only for now anyhow. You been awful good to me 
and I cant ever thank you for all the things you done. Ive 
had a little bit of outdoors anyhow and they cant ever take 
that from me But I can see I made a mistake comeing at all 

I couldent stay to say good-by Jack it would have hurt 
too much I did a lot of thinking while you was gone with 
your mother Mr. Livingston maybe will tell you some time, 
for he is right even if I dont like him 


2 66 


“ MISTER 44 ” 


So good-by Jack I wont ever forget you and all you done 
for me Im going to believe youll think of me once in a while 
because that will help some Im sorry I cant write you a 
better letter but — 

Did you know I been praying for you every night I al- 
ways will Jack. God bless you 

Sadie. 

Stoddard stood motionless as a statue for several 
minutes. His brain was dull and numb. He was 
struggling to make himself believe. Sadie was 
gone ! He read the letter a second time. Gone 
she was, beyond all doubt. But where? 

Now he sprang into action. The Indian was 
leaning over his beached canoe, examining a doubt- 
ful spot in the bark, when Stoddard almost upset 
him with the fury of a grip that spun him around 
like a top. 

“ Where did she go? ” he shouted. 

“ Took train,” said John placidly. 

“ Where? ” 

“ Lower Station.” 

“ You took her there? ” 

The Indian nodded. 

“ The down-train? The six forty-five? ” 

“ Sure.” 

It had been gone from the Lower Station more 
than an hour.^ Stoddard swore aloud. 

“ When did she start? ” 

“ Oh, plenty time.” 

“ Where is she going to? ” 

John shrugged his shoulders to indicate that he 
had no idea. 


THE FLIGHT 


267 


“ Did she have a ticket? ” 

“ She would pay on train, she said.” 

Stoddard paused, baffled. Anger and dismay al- 
most choked him as he glared at the little Indian. 

“ Tell me exactly what she did after I left the 
island this morning,” he commanded. 

“ She come to camp one hour, maybe two, after 
you go away,” said John carefully. “ She sit 
around. I get some lunch, but she don’t eat much. 
Then she get some paper and write. She write a 
long time. After she write she cry.” 

“ Cried!” 

“ Sure. Then she put um letter in the tent. 
Then she tell me she had to get train. She tell me 
to take her there. That’s all.” 

“ You went by the portage? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ How long did you have to wait for the train? ” 

“ ’Bout half-hour. I didn’t wait. She tell me 
not to.” 

“ How do you know she caught the train? ” 

“ Heard it stop while I paddle across tjie bay. I 
set signal.” 

“ Didn’t she leave any message for me? ” 

The Indian pointed to the letter, which was still 
in Stoddard’s hand. 

“ That’s all,” he said. 

“ And you’re positive she didn’t say where she 
was going? ” 

“ She said she go home. She didn’t talk much.” 

Stoddard read the letter a third time. Now it 
had the effect of working him into a state of im- 


268 


“ MISTER 44 ” 


potent rage. He turned upon the Indian savagely. 

44 How dared you take her away from this is- 
land? ” he demanded. 

44 She say she had to go,” answered John. 

“ But what business did you have to help her? ” 

44 You tell me to take lady’s orders. You don’t 
tell me to keep her here.” 

That John had acted within his orders even Stod- 
dard could not gainsay. He was furious at himself 
now. 

“ You say take good care of her,” added John in 
defense. “I do. She catch train plenty time.” 

Stoddard suddenly remembered a phrase in the 
letter. 

“ She says something about Mr. Livingston here,” 
he said. “ Did she talk with him to-day? ” 

“ This morning, down that way,” answered John, 
pointing toward the other end of the island. 

44 After I had come back to camp? ” 

44 Yes.” 

44 Did you hear any of it? ” 

44 No; too far away.” 

Stoddard looked grim. Larry had something to 
do with this — Larry, the meddler. What did 
Sadie mean when she wrote that Livingston might 
tell him some time — and that Livingston was 
right? His lingers yearned for a grip on Larry’s 
throat — for a chance to shake the truth from him. 

44 What a stupid coward I was!” he muttered. 
44 To let him scare me away! Just as if anything 
else in the world existed — then ! And what must 
she think of me ! ” 


THE FLIGHT 


269 

He turned again to the Indian, who had resumed 
the interrupted examination of his canoe. John, 
innocent instrument of Stoddard’s despair, suddenly 
appeared to remember something. 

“ I forgot,” he said, and began fumbling in a 
pocket. 

Presently he withdrew from it a crumpled roll of 
paper and offered it to Stoddard. 

“ She say to give you this,” he explained. 

Stoddard unfolded the paper and found, lying in 
the palm of his hand, a strand of golden-bronze hair. 
He felt a tightness in his throat as he looked at it. 
Gently he passed the silken skein through his fingers, 
marveling at the softness and smoothness of it. 
Then he put it into the pocket of his shirt — the 
same pocket as that into which Sadie had pinned a 
letter. 

“You’re sure this is all, John?” he asked. 
“ You haven’t forgotten anything more? ” 

“ No.” 

Twilight had deepened into early evening dark- 
ness when Stoddard wandered a little distance along 
the shore and sat heavily upon a bowlder. The 
anger had left him, but his face was very grave. In 
his heart was the soreness of bitter disappointment. 
For a time he had no will to do anything save brood 
over misfortune. 

Then he roused himself impatiently. 

“ I’m acting like a child,” he said aloud. “ I’ve 
done enough crying. Now what’s to be done?” 

Did he want Sadie Hicks, the factory-girl? 

He asked himself this question frankly as a be- 


270 


MISTER 44 


I 


ginning, although the answer was already written 
in his heart. But Stoddard had determined to re- 
store his mind to a state of discipline, as a neces- 
sary step to the accomplishment of anything what- 
ever. 

Sadie was unlearned of books and of speech; her 
knowledge of things beyond her immediate little 
world was small and imperfect; there were times 
when he could not listen to her without an involun- 
tary shudder; she was uneducated, untaught in the 
graces of the women who peopled his own world; he 
would be unable to take her among them. All these 
things were true, he told himself; he must be care- 
ful not to lose sight of them. 

What else? 

Well, Sadie was brave and true-hearted and 
tender. Her speech stumbled, but her mind 
traveled straight. She looked upward and stead- 
fastly toward her ideals. She had warmth and 
sympathy. She did not lie nor evade, but spoke 
with the simplicity of a child. She was a woman, 
unspoiled. 

She was beautiful, beyond all question; he had 
never seen her like. She stirred his imagination 
strangely. She awakened in him a curious mingling 
of respect and pity. Yet the pity seemed evanes- 
cent; he was conscious that it was slowly fading. 
Something clothed her about with an atmosphere of 
simple dignity and nobility, and this despite her 
speech and the unlettered mind from which it 
sprang. 

He loved her. He would always love her. 


THE FLIGHT 


271 

That he told himself, calmly. This woman was his 
mate. 

Thus Stoddard answered his first question. He 
loved her; therefore it followed that he wanted 
her. 

Wanting her, he must seek. Where? 

The Indian told him she talked of going home. 
Her letter contained the pathetic conclusion that the 
place for a girl to work was in the city. Buffalo, 
then. He could think of no other place. Sadie 
herself knew none, save the little Ohio town that 
was her birthplace. 

Therefore she must have returned to Buffalo. 
He would first seek her there. If he failed there 
circumstance would lead him elsewhere. But the 
search would end only when he had found her. 

When would he seek her? That was simple. 
Once Stoddard had planned a course, he went upon 
it without delay. He would start to-night. 

The night mail, south-bound, would reach the 
Lower Station at eleven-fifty. There was ample 
time for it. True, it went only to North Bay, but 
it would set him on his journey. It was better than 
waiting for the morning. 

With a heart amazingly lightened, now that his 
mind was clearly set upon a definite purpose, Stod- 
dard went briskly back to camp, where he found 
John with supper ready. He ate heartily. 

“ I take the night train, John,” he said when the 
meal was over. The Indian merely nodded. 

“ I don’t know when I’ll be back. You can pack 
up my stuff and take it to Deepwater Station. I’ll 


272 


MISTER 44 ” 


send word what to do with it later. My city clothes 
are there, too. I haven’t time to get them now. 
I’ll send you some money later; I need what I have 
with me.” 

John indicated that he understood. 

“ I’ll catch the train at the Lower Station,” added 
Stoddard. “ And I guess I’ll start now.” 

“ How about canoe? ” asked the Indian. 

“ I’ll leave it at the landing-place and you can pick 
it up later, unless you want to come along now.” 

John evinced no desire to make another trip to 
the Lower Station. He felt sleepy, and the tent and 
blankets were alluring. He said he would get the 
canoe to-morrow. 

A minute later Stoddard was crossing the North- 
east Arm, headed for the entrance to the portage 
that crossed the neck of the peninsula. He did not 
hesitate to try conclusions with it again, even though 
it had used him hardly a few nights before. He 
imagined he would have little trouble; various sore 
spots upon his person still existed as reminders of 
every pitfall in the treacherous path. 

A young moon was shining as he drew his canoe 
from the water on the opposite side of the North- 
east Arm and made it ready for the carry. No 
moose, tarrying late for a nocturnal supper, greeted 
him to-night. The forest was in deep slumber. 

The crossing of the portage exacted a toll of 
heavy labor, but he escaped the punishment of 
ignorance and stumbling feet. He remembered the 
trees that had tripped him, the rocks that lay in wait 
for a misstep, and he profited thereby. When he 


THE FLIGHT 


273 

dropped his canoe into the waters of Island Bay he 
sighed comfortably and triumphantly. 

“ It was almost too tame this time,” he said. 
“ Seems as if I didn’t get all I was entitled to.” 

There was a slender streak of moonlight on the 
water. Into this he headed the canoe, for it was 
almost exactly marking the path to the Lower Sta- 
tion. Presently he was among the still islands, 
where the course became winding and apparently 
aimless and where there were numerous channels, 
any one of which would lead toward his goal. He 
chose that which was most direct. 

As he slid the canoe through a narrow passage 
between two of the islands a sound of voices reached 
his ears. Automatically he rested his paddle and 
listened. Men were talking somewhere off to the 
right. 

“ I don’t see that it’s any use to hang around 
here,” growled one voice. “We’ve tried it two 
nights now and nothing doing.” 

“ Well, it was your tip,” came the answer. “ I 
didn’t bring you here.” 

“ Jim said he found a track over here. That’s 
what brought us.” 

“ I don’t believe he found anything.” 

“ Well, I showed you some tracks myself.” 

“ Anything might have made ’em,” retorted the 
second voice in disgust. 

Stoddard dipped his paddle again and smiled. 
Somebody was getting ready to violate the game- 
laws of the Deepwater. It was none of his concern; 
besides, he had no time to waste investigating. 


274 


MISTER 44 ” 


The canoe passed the narrows and shot out into 
a broader sheet of water, where the moonlight 
played again. 

“Listen!” 

One of the voices spoke abruptly. 

“What is it?” 

“ Somebody in a canoe. I heard the paddle.” 

“ Has he got one? ” 

“ God knows. I suppose so.” 

Stoddard was puzzled. He halted again for a 
moment; then remembered the south-bound train 
and resumed his course. 

As he did so he heard the noise of running feet on 
a rocky shore, then a splashing, followed by a sound 
of hasty paddling behind him. He paused for a 
third time and looked back. Now he made out the 
dim bulk of a moving canoe. It was headed directly 
in his wake. 

“Funny!” he muttered. “But I’ve no time to 
wait.” 

He had taken less than a dozen strokes when a 
voice hailed from the darkness. 

“Halt!” 

Stoddard hesitated involuntarily. 

“ What’s the trouble? ” he called. 

** We want a look at you ! ” said the voice sharply. 

Although his curiosity was aroused to the keenest 
pitch, Stoddard could not risk the missing of the 
night mail. 

“ Can’t wait. I’m in a hurry,” he answered, lay- 
ing to his paddle once more. 


THE FLIGHT 


275 

“Halt!” The command this time was more 
peremptory. 

44 Cut out the melodrama,” advised Stoddard over 
his shoulder as he turned the point of an island and 
bore away for another channel ahead. 

44 We’ll fire!” 

This time Stoddard laughed and kept steadily on 
his way. The very absurdity of the thing appealed 
to him. Piracy was unknown in the Deepwater. 
This was some crude joke — astonishing, it was true, 
yet surely a joke, although it would have been an 
uncomfortable one for a timid man. 

A rifle cracked, and somewhere off to his left a 
bullet cut the surface of Island Bay. 

Stoddard stopped laughing. This was carrying 
a joke too far. He was minded to stop and demand 
an explanation. Then a picture of Sadie flashed 
into his mind. Every minute was taking her farther 
away from him. He could not stop. 

44 1 warn you to stop shooting! ” he called as he 
put forth all his strength, so that the shaft of the 
paddle bent ominously. 

The answer was a second shot, equally wide of 
the mark. Stoddard’s canoe was flying now. Then 
he heard the voices again. 

44 Stop shooting and get to work! ” exclaimed one. 

44 But he won’t halt.” 

44 Take your paddle. We’ll catch him. There’s 
no reward for dead men.” 

A great light dawned upon Stoddard’s puzzled 
mind. So they were hunting the 44 lunatic ” — the 


“ MISTER 44 ” 


276 

wild man who had dashed up to the incoming train 
at the Deepwater station that day, seized Mrs. 
Westfall, without explanation or apology, snatched 
her across the platform and literally thrown her into 
the south-bound train just as it was moving out of 
the station. But how could Stoddard explain that 
there was no “lunatic” to hunt for — that he had 
only mistaken Mrs. Westfall for some one else, and 
that in the hurry and confusion there had been 
no chance for either to put the other right. 

Stoddard was both amused and alarmed. The 
whole affair, and especially this present episode, was 
too ridiculous not to be laughed at; yet it bade fair 
to cause him annoyance, embarrassing explanations 
and above all disastrous delay. He, John Stoddard, 
C. E., of old and distinguished family, hunted down 
for a madman! He chuckled. Simultaneously he 
thought of Sadie again and became grim. 

As he could now hear a furious paddling astern 
of him he assumed that the rifle had been laid aside 
in favor of pursuit. He felt more comfortable. 
Although by no means nervous, Stoddard had no 
relish for serving as a target for pot-shots in the 
dark. He had been under fire in semi-civilized 
countries, whither his profession had called him, and 
he did not regard the sensation as a pastime nor 
one to be courted when it could be avoided. 

A race he did not mind. He judged he had a 
lead of perhaps a hundred yards, and, although two 
men can drive a canoe faster than one, he was will- 
ing to take the chances of keeping the lead. So he 
settled himself firmly on his knees, determined to 


THE FLIGHT 


277 


give this pair of maniac-hunters a contest worthy of 
their desperate, if foolish, purpose. 

Five minutes later he was clear of the islands, 
with a mile of open water ahead, at the end of which 
lay the rotting wharf of the Lower Station. Had 
there been time to spare Stoddard would have en- 
joyed a hide-and-seek chase among the islands, 
where he was confident he could easily elude pur- 
suit. But he could not afford that. 

That they saw him clearly as he started across 
this broad reach of Island Bay he knew readily 
from their shouts. It did not take him long, either, 
to become aware of the fact that the second canoe 
was gaining, but he consoled himself with the thought 
that this was to be expected. The important ques- 
tion was, how rapidly would they gain and would he 
reach the shore ahead of them? 

No sound came from either craft now, save those 
of heavy breathing and rapidly wielded paddles. 
It was no time for talk in the craft of the pursuers. 
The pair who manned the paddles were awake to the 
size of their task, for the man ahead was driving his 
canoe at a furious pace. 

Half a mile farther found the two craft sepa- 
rated by not more than a hundred feet. Stoddard 
was breathing heavily, but his arms and body worked 
with the same machine-like precision and power. 
He even had a final spurt stored within him, if he 
needed it. Once he glanced back, only to return to 
his work with fresh determination. 

“ The fools ! ” he muttered. 

Behind him two toiling men were now calling en- 


278 


“ MISTER 44 ” 


couragement to each other as the distance that sepa- 
rated them from their quarry lessened, despite the 
fact that to call cost precious breath. 

“ He’s nearly in! ” gasped one. “ Hang to it! ” 

Stoddard caught the words and flung back a mock- 
ing laugh. He would show them how nearly in he 
was. 

But now another and different sound reached his 
ears. It was the faint whistle of a train. 

“ Good Lord! ” he thought. “ Less time than I 
figured! I’d have missed it sure if I hadn’t had 
somebody to chase me ! ” 

The dock was less than two hundred yards ahead 
when he began his spurt. The quickening of pace 
was barely perceptible, yet it was a little. The ca- 
noe behind responded to the challenge. But twenty 
yards away now, it was cleaving the water like a 
powerboat. 

Again came the long droning of a locomotive-whis- 
tle, clearer this time and obviously nearer. 

Stoddard was putting the last ounce of his strength 
into his blade, but he was losing ground. Ten yards 
separated the canoes, and the landing was still fifty 
yards away. He was thinking rapidly, but did not 
falter in his stroke. 

One of the men had a gun, perhaps both. They 
would reach the station platform almost as soon as 
he. There would be no time to set a signal. Al- 
ready he could hear the rumbling of the cars. 
Whatever was to be done must be done at the land- 
ing. 

As his canoe ran alongside the rotten platform he 


THE FLIGHT 


279 


rose to his feet and sprang out, still clinging to his 
paddle. Then he faced swiftly about. 

The pursuing craft, but a length behind, touched 
the landing an instant later. Two men leaped from 
it, one of whom, as Stoddard could see in the half- 
moonlight, carried a rifle in his hands. He brought 
K Quickly to ms shouldet and aimed at Stoddard’s 
breast. 

Hands up I 1 ’ he commanded. 

A scant two yards separated the muzzle of the 
iiom the target at which it was pointed. At the 
set. . distance; a little to the right, crouched the fig- 
x A the second man, ready to close at a bound. 

‘ Don’t shoot,” said Stoddard. 

He raised his hands above his head in obedience 
to orders, the paddle grasped crosswise in them. 

A series 0 sharp blasts from the locomotive whis- 
tle-; me sh: iekmg through the trees. 

Si h . r raised arms were flung forward 
swiftly, and the paddle flew from his hands. The 
shaft of it struck squarely across the face of the 
man with the pointed gun. He uttered a gasping cry 
of pain and staggered backward. The rifle clattered 
to the platform. 

In the same instant Stoddard whirled upon his sec- 
ond pursuer a^id launched his two-hundred-pound 
bulk behind a swinging fist. The blow caught the 
man on the shoulder, spun him like a windmill and 
landed him in tie shallow water of the cove. 

Stoddard fled up the path toward the station. 
The train was ahead of him. No signal had been 
set; there was ne time to set one. 


200 


“ MISTER 44 ” 


As he gained the platform the locomotive rolled 
past him. The brakes were grinding for the curve 
just below, but the train was still moving at a twenty- 
mile gait. 

Stoddard was excited, but not foolhardy. There 
was only one chance fit to take and that was the 
rear platform. If he missed he would get no worse 
than a bad fall. He poised himself and waited. 
The fifth and last car reached him. Simultaneously 
he broke into a run beside it, his eyes glancing back- 
ward. A second later a hand-rail slid past him. 
The fingers of his left hand closed upon it swiftly, 
and he sprang. A foot slipped on the lower step, 
and he fell to his knees, his body swaying outward. 
But his grip held. 

Now his right hand groped for a hold and se- 
cured it. His knees had slipped from the step, and 
his feet were dragging on the rough stone road- 
bed. Grinding his teeth and setting his shoulder- 
muscles for a mighty effort, Stoddard slowly drew 
himself upward. First his knees regained the bot- 
tom step, then he was on his feet. Then he fell face- 
downward on the platform and lay there. 

“ That was for you, Sadie ! ” he gasped, smiling. 


CHAPTER XIX 


FOUND 

G ETTING to Buffalo proved not so simple a 
matter as Stoddard calculated. He fell un- 
der the disapproving eye of Federal author- 
ity when he touched American soil at Niagara Falls. 
It was not a question of smuggling; he had nothing 
but the clothes he wore and three dollars and forty 
cents, his entire cash balance after payment of rail- 
road fare. It appeared that he was an u undesirable 
immigrant.’’ 

This confidential tip was passed by the conductor 
of his train to the immigration officials stationed at 
the line. They invited Stoddard into the office and 
inspected him. He looked singularly undesirable. 

For several days his beard had been growing 
famously. He had no hat. His shirt was not only 
ripped at the shoulder, but had two or three lesser 
rents. His hands and arms were roughly scarred. 
His trousers, tucked into a pair of lumbermen’s 
socks, which in turn disappeared into hunting-boots, 
were vying with his shirt in the matter of ventila- 
tion. His boots were sad remnants of former 
ruggedness. 

The immigration officials were downcast as they 
looked him over. They liked the size of him first 
281 


282 


MISTER 44 ” 


rate, and they accused him of no physical ailments. 
But that was all they liked. 

Casually they wrote “ L. P. C.” after his name, 
which was already entered upon a blank form. 
Those are grim letters for the immigrant, as thou- 
sands who are turned back from the shores of Ellis 
Island know to their dismay. “ L. P. C.” is immi- 
gration slang for “ Likely to become a public 
charge.” 

It took Stoddard more than an hour to convince 
the United States government, as represented at 
the brink of Niagara, that he was not only a citizen 
of the republic, but was native-born and eligible to 
become President if his fellow Americans happened 
to fancy him. 

He was wroth about the delay that his benevolent 
country was forcing upon him. He stoutly asserted 
his right to return to the land of his birth, clad in 
nothing and bearing not so much as a red cent, if 
he so chose. He expressed himself on this and 
other related matters very freely, very fully and at 
times very originally. 

When he arrived at a profane peroration they 
decided he was an American and let him go. He 
insisted on tearing up the L. P. C. record with his 
own hands. 

He left the office wondering what they had done 
to Sadie, whose costume and whose finances were 
in not much better state than his own. He went 
back to ask. 

“Oh, yes; we remember her,” said a uniformed 
person. “ She came through early this morning. 


FOUND 


283 


Yes; we asked her some questions. Did she have 
any difficulty? Not after talking for two minutes. 
She talks United States.” 

“ Did she happen to say where she was going? ” 

“ Her ticket read to Buffalo.” 

Stoddard departed in elation and with a better 
opinion of the immigration watch-dogs. They had 
not exactly furnished him with a clew, but they had 
confirmed his theory. 

He went to Buffalo by trolley rather than wait 
for a train, and it was evening when he reached 
there. His first act was to eat, for he was ravenous. 
But he did not eat at the hotel to which he went 
without delay. The head waiter arranged that dis- 
appointment. He apologetically reminded Stod- 
dard of his costume. Stoddard saw the point at 
once; he had forgotten about his clothes. At a 
place where they sold “ regular ” dinners for thirty- 
five cents each there was no head waiter and no re- 
minder. Stoddard ate two of the dinners. They 
were pretty good. 

It was too late to hunt Sadie. Besides, he was 
dead tired and he wanted a clear head in the morn- 
ing. He found a cheap hotel, which did not reject 
him when he paid for his room in advance. Then 
he went to bed. 

It had been a long, dreary day of travel. The 
south-bound mail had made all the stops from the 
Lower Station to North Bay, with Stoddard en- 
deavoring to sleep in a day-coach seat and achiev- 
ing little success. At North Bay there was a three- 
hour wait for a connection — three solid hours 


284 


MISTER 44” 


during which Sadie was speeding away from him. 
Then came the slow train to Toronto, then another 
to Niagara Falls, then the humiliation of the “ L. 
P. C.” 

He fell asleep promptly, his last moment of con- 
sciousness devoted to a wish that he might dream 
about Sadie. He did not. He dreamed about a 
lunatic in the Deepwater, who had been engaged by 
the railroad to facilitate the discharging and receiv- 
ing of passengers, and who hurled them on and off 
trains by the handful. It was a diverting dream un- 
til the passengers began playing medicine-ball with 
the lunatic. 

In the morning he made an early start, begin- 
ning with a shave, which cost fifteen cents, and a 
“ regular ” breakfast, which cost twenty-five. This 
left him a dollar and sixty cents of capital. Part 
of this was invested in a telegram to New York, 
calling upon the engineering firm for whom he did 
field-work to wire him funds at once. Then he went 
to look for Sadie. 

A hatless ragamuffin in a city street is common 
enough and worthy of no particular note. But 
when a hatless ragamuffin is clean-shaven and deeply 
tanned, when he is very large in person and very 
determined in aspect, and when the rags upon his 
back are of a kind strange to city eyes, it is a dif- 
ferent matter. Folk stared at Stoddard, and he was 
conscious of it. But he did not let it trouble him. 
He was too busy. 

Where Sadie had lived before she started upon 
her adventure he did not know, nor was he sure 


FOUND 


285 

she had returned there. But the Challenge Shirt 
Company was easy to find. He consulted a direc- 
tory and obtained the address, to which he went with- 
out delay. 

The plain brick building annoyed him; it re- 
minded him too much of a penitentiary. The sight 
of it was enough to make him understand why Sadie 
had sought escape. 

Yet his heart quickened a little as he entered the 
door which bore above it the word “ Office.” He 
wondered if Sadie had returned to her prison. He 
knew that she had little money left after paying her 
fare back to Buffalo; he knew also that the little 
bank account was no more. She would need work, 
and it was likely that her first seeking would be where 
she had once been employed. 

The man he met in the office turned out to be 
Mr. Halsey, Sadie’s friend. When this neat and 
conventional person viewed Stoddard standing in the 
neat and orderly office he received a shock. 

“ Porter or driver? ” asked Mr. Halsey. 

“What?” 

“ You are looking for employment, I take it. I 
don’t know whether any help is needed, but you can 
see the boss of the shipping department if you wish. 
Two doors down the street.” 

Stoddard laughed. 

“ Thanks. I’m not looking for a job. I’m look- 
ing for a Miss Hicks.” 

“ Hicks? ” repeated Mr. Halsey, puzzled. 

“ Sadie Hicks.” 

“Oh, Sadie! Yes; I understand. Sadie left 


286 “MISTER 44” 

here last week, I’m sorry to say. She was a good 
employee.” 

“ I know she left,” said Stoddard. “ I want to 
find out whether she came back.” 

“I haven’t seen her, I’m sure- — and she is not 
difficult to see.” 

Mr. Halsey smiled at his little joke. He liked to 
think he was apt at such pleasantries. 

“Who will know?” 

“ You might inquire in the packing department. 
Mr. Ferguson is the superintendent. One flight up. 
Take those stairs over there and turn to the right 
when you reach the top.” 

When the figure of Stoddard appeared in the 
doorway of the packing department thirty girls 
stopped putting shirts into boxes. Thirty pairs of 
eyes stared. Nos. 4, 11, and 28 giggled aloud. 
No. 17, who was nearest to Stoddard, said “ Pipe ! ” 
in a stage whisper; then repented and gave him a 
roguish smile. Stoddard grinned at her and ac- 
cepted her as a friendly person. 

“ I’m looking for Mr. Ferguson,” he said. 

“The supe?” inquired No. 17. 

“ That’s the man.” 

No. 17 glanced around the room. 

“ I don’t see him just this minute,” she 
said. “ But he’ll be here directly. Nice day, ain’t 
it?” 

“ Immense. Maybe I can hunt Mr. Ferguson 
up.” 

“ Oh, he’ll be right along. You couldn’t find him. 
I bet that’s one of our shirts.” 


FOUND 287 

“ You win. You don’t think he’ll be long, do 
you? ” 

“No, indeed. Ain’t you the impatient party! 
Live in Buffalo? ” 

“ No, thanks.” 

No. 17 bridled coquettishly in defense of her na- 
tive city. 

“Take it from me, it’s some burg,” she flashed. 
“ What are you tryin’ to do? Kid it — with them 
clothes? ” 

Stoddard laughed. No. 17 was a loyal little citi- 
zen, and a rather nice-looking one, too. 

“ I’m from New York,” he explained. 

“ I knew it was a make-up,” she said with an em- 
phatic nod. “New York, hey? I met a New 
York feller once. He took me out a coupla times. 
Swell dancer. Most of ’em are, from New York, 
I guess. There’s plenty of dancin’ in Buffalo, too. 
I can step a little myself.” 

She paused and looked at Stoddard archly. 

“ I ain’t been to a dance in a week,” she added 
with a sigh. 

“ I don’t dance.” 

“No? It’s easy enough. Why, I can teach — 
Gee! What am I sayin’? ” 

No. 17 faked an instant of attractive confusion. 

“ Is this Mr. Ferguson coming? ” asked Stoddard, 
pointing. 

No. 17 looked across the room — and immedi- 
ately began to pack shirts into boxes. 

“ That’s the guy,” she said over her shoulder. 
“Ain’t he a mut! Glad to ’ve met you, I’m sure. 


288 “MISTER 44” 

We get through here at six. I thought maybe you’d 
wanta know.” 

Ferguson came across the packing room with a 
quick, nervous shuffle and headed in the direction of 
Stoddard. 

“ You lookin’ for me? ” he said. 

“ Yes.” 

Stoddard hated the Shrimp, promptly and auto- 
matically. He would have done so on Sadie’s ac- 
count anyhow, if it had not been so easy to do it on 
his own. 

The Shrimp was looking up at Stoddard and puf- 
fing his little chest, in order to obtain a measure of 
bulk and dignity. A titter from somewhere in the 
room reached his ears; he flushed at the temples. 
The subject of his stature, converted by Sadie into a 
universal topic the day she left, was a sore one with 
the Shrimp. He knew that comparisons were be- 
ing made now. For this fresh opportunity to de- 
ride him he blamed the bulk of the big man in the 
ragged clothes. Hence he hated Stoddard, just be- 
cause Stoddard towered over him. 

“ Well, what is it? ” demanded the Shrimp. 

“ You’re the superintendent here? ” 

“ Sure.” 

“ I’m looking for a Miss Hicks.” 

Ferguson’s eyes widened for a brief instant; then 
narrowed to slits. 

“ Not here,” he answered. 

“ She was here formerly, was she not? ” 

“ You mean a girl who worked as No. 18 ? ” 

Stoddard nodded. 


FOUND 289 

“ Oh, I fired her last week,” said the Shrimp in a 
grand manner. 

“ I understand that,” observed Stoddard as he 
bored into Ferguson’s soul with a contemptuous 
glance. “ I came to see if you can tell me where to 
find her.” 

“ Don’t know nothin’ about her.” 

“ She hasn’t been back? ” 

“ No.” 

“ Can you tell me where she lives? ” 

“ I tell you I don’t know nothin’ about her.” 

“ Anybody here likely to know? ” persisted Stod- 
dard with a glance in the direction of the thirty 
girls. 

“ There ain’t nobody goin’ to quit work to talk 
to you while I’m runnin’ this shop,” retorted the 
Shrimp. 

Stoddard looked down upon the Shrimp with 
calm eyes. 

“ This is an important matter,” he said patiently. 
“ I must locate Miss Hicks, and I have reason to be- 
lieve she is in the city.” 

“ I ain’t got time to waste on you,” declared the 
Shrimp, turning to walk away. 

He had not moved three feet when he felt his 
progress gently arrested. Then he began to slide 
backward. A large, sinewy forefinger inserted be- 
tween his leather belt and his person, was the cause 
of the phenomenon. There was smothered laughter 
from the room. 

“ You mustn’t run away so abruptly,” chided 
Stoddard as he faced the Shrimp about. “ I am 


290 


MISTER 44 ” 


talking to you very civilly and it’s not nice of you to 
be discourteous to me. Now, who can tell me some- 
thing about Miss Hicks? ” 

The Shrimp was furious. 

“ You lemme go! ” he shouted as he attempted to 
wriggle loose from the forefinger that still hooked 
his belt. “ You get outa this place! ” 

“ Now, don’t be peevish,” advised Stoddard 
softly. “ Just be nice and obliging.” 

“ I tell you she’s gone! ” snarled the Shrimp, still 
struggling. “I fired her! And a good job, too. 
She thought she could run my department; got 
swelled head. I showed her ! 

“ I’m the boss in this place. She wasn’t any good, 
anyhow. I’m pretty partic’lar about people I got 
workin’ here. Gotta protect other girls from — ” 

The Shrimp paused abruptly as he caught a look 
in Stoddard’s eyes. Then as he watched the big 
man he saw a ponderous fist clenched and drawn 
back. Gasping in terror, he made a furious effort 
to free himself from the detaining finger, but Stod- 
dard changed his mind. 

“ If you say another word about her I may kill 
you,” he remarked quietly. “ I have heard of you. 
You are the Shrimp.” 

This time there was a ripple of laughter. 

“ You are too small to be thrashed,” added Stod- 
dard, smiling faintly. “ Yet it would be wrong to 
suspend punishment entirely. So for what you have 
already said I shall spank you.” 

Immediately at the conclusion of this speech the 
Shrimp felt himself lifted bodily from the floor. 


FOUND 


291 


The thing was accomplished with one hand. An in- 
stant later the squirming figure was deposited face 
downward upon a pile of shirts waiting to be placed 
in their proper boxes. 

With a hand gripped in the Shrimp’s collar in or- 
der to hold him in a proper positon, Stoddard, very 
methodically and without the least display of temper, 
spanked him. 

The Shrimp roared. So did the packing depart- 
ment of the Challenge Shirt Company, but not in 
kind. Three persons rushed in from the cutting- 
room and joined the audience. But nobody inter- 
fered with the big man. In fact, no one wished to. 

The Shrimp, having been spanked soundly and suf- 
ficiently, was projected by a mighty push from Stod- 
dard’s arm in the direction toward which his head 
was pointed. He slid along ten feet of table, 
knocking to the floor such shirts and boxes as lay 
in his path; then, having arrived at the end of the 
table, but still possessing some unspent momentum, 
he dived head-first to the floor, where he lay kick- 
ing and thrashing his arms and snarling like a tem- 
pestuous child. 

Stoddard walked out of the packing-room. 

“ I couldn’t hit him, but I had to do something,” 
he murmured as he started down the stairs. 

" Psst! ” 

The sibilant sound came from behind him. Stod- 
dard turned. No. 17 was standing on the landing, 
beckoning frantically. He retraced his steps. 

“ I slid out durin’ the excitement,” she explained. 
“ My, but that was a show! It’ll finish Ferguson. 


292 


MISTER 44 


He’ll never live that down. I bet he quits when the 
week’s up. The mutt I Say, he lied to you. Do 
you know that? ” 

“ What about?” 

“ You’re a friend of Sadie’s, ain’t you? ” 

Stoddard nodded. 

“ Well, she was in here yesterday.” 

Stoddard’s heart leaped at the news. 

“Yep,” said No. 17 with a vigorous nod. 
“ Came in lookin’ for her job back. He could ’ve 
give her one, too, ’cause we’re short a girl. But 
he wouldn’t, for what she said to him the day she 
left.” 

“Where did she go?” demanded Stoddard 
eagerly. 

“ Don’t know,” answered No. 17. “ There ain’t 

none of us knows. Only she was here all right, and 
she told No. 12 she needed a job bad and was goin’ 
to find one before the day was out or know why. 
Sadie and me wasn’t particular friends, but I don’t 
mind tellin’ you this, just for what you done to the 
Shrimp.” 

“ Where does she live? ” 

“ I know where she did live,” said No. 17, giv- 
ing him the address. “ It’s a boardin’-house. 
Maybe you can get track of her there.” 

“ Lord, but I’m obliged to you ! ” he exclaimed, 
thrusting out his hand and gripping the fingers of 
No. 17. 

“Gee, you’re strong!” she commented. Also, 
she pinched his biceps with her free hand and uttered 
a little cry of wonder. 


FOUND 


293 


“What’s it all about, anyhow?” she whispered, 
with a furtive glance toward the packing-room door. 
“ You must want to find her awful bad.” 

“ I do.” 

“ Well,” sighed No. 17 as she surveyed Stoddard 
with frankly admiring eyes, “ I don’t know as I 
blame you. Sadie’s an awful good-looker. She’s 
kinda queer, that’s all. I guess you won’t be cornin’ 
back here, will you? ” 

“ Not if I find her.” 

No. 17 shrugged with a gesture meant to be elo- 
quent of resignation. 

“ Here’s luck, then,” she said, squeezing his fin- 
gers. “ And say, Mr. What’s-your-name from New 
York, if you get tired of lookin’ for Sadie, why — 
er — well, I can teach you some of them dance- 
steps.” 

“ When I want dancing lessons I’ll surely come 
around,” laughed Stoddard. 

“Honest?” 

“ Surest thing you know! ” 

“Aw, you won’t be back!” she declared, shak- 
ing her head. “ But if there’s any info’ I can pick 
up about Sadie, just lemme know. No. 17’s my 
number. Name’s Alice — A-l-y-s.” 

“ Good-by, Alys,” he said. “ Ever so thankful. 
I’m certainly strong for you.” 

“Stop joshin’ ! Honest? Say, wait a minute! 
No, never mind — don’t. You got to look for Sa- 
die. So-long! ” 

She remained at the head of the stairway until 
he disappeared, then sighed, patted her combs into 


294 


“ MISTER 44 ” 


place, and went back into the packing department. 
The first person her eyes rested upon was the Shrimp. 
She had never seen him look so small. 

Reaching the street, Stoddard set off at a brisk 
walk toward the boarding-house the address of 
which he had obtained from Alys. Optimism was 
running strong within him. He knew now to a cer- 
tainty that Sadie was in Buffalo. He also knew that 
she needed a job so badly that there was no chance 
of her leaving the city, even if she desired to, until 
she had earned some money. He was sure he would 
find her, though it took days and weeks of search- 
ing. 

Something else elated him. He had a new and 
wonderful admiration for Sadie Hicks. More than 
, ever was she remarkable in his eyes. Now he knew 
the environment whence she had come. He had 
seen the dreary and stifling packing-room with the 
Shrimp and its other denizens; he had breathed the 
factory atmosphere, with all its cheapness and sordid- 
ness and weariness. 

And out of this she had come, like some beauti- 
ful flower rearing itself above a bed of weeds, un- 
spoiled and without the taint of it all. Back in the 
dismal room where she earned her seven dollars a 
week she had seen, not the monotonous toil and the 
grimness of human beings become machines, but fair 
visions of her big outdoors. Her mind had risen, 
though her body might be chained. 

“ She shall have her dream when I find her,” he 
said half aloud. 

The boarding-house reminded him of the fac- 


FOUND 


295 


tory. It was another bit of environment that had 
made no impress upon Sadie. It was clean, but 
prim and cheerless. All the hope, if any it ever 
harbored, seemed gone from it. 

u I am looking for Sadie Hicks,” he told the land- 
lady, who was lean, tired-looking, and “ particular ” 
about her lodgers. 

“ She left last week,” was the answer that accom- 
panied a swift .and suspicious inspection of his per- 
son. 

“ Been back?” 

“ Came here yesterday afternoon, but her room 
was let. I don’t have rooms standin’ idle.” 

“ Any idea where I can find her? ” 

“ No.” 

The door closed simultaneously with the answer. 

Stoddard lost a shade of his optimism. Finding 
Sadie might not be so simple, after all. He walked 
slowly down the street, his head bent and his fore- 
head wrinkled. Occasionally he bumped into peo- 
ple, apologizing perfunctorily. Most of them 
stared after him. 

Just what to do next puzzled him. He thought 
of returning to the factory and maintaining a vigil, 
in the hope that Sadie might return, having failed 
elsewhere to obtain anything to do. But he de- 
cided this was too negative a method and that in any 
event the time for it had not arrived. 

His costume was a handicap and an annoyance, 
he soon discovered. It attracted disconcerting at- 
tention. Also, he was embarrassed for lack of 
money. His capital was now eighty-five cents. 


“ MISTER 44 ? 


29 6 

On revisiting the telegraph-office he was disap- 
pointed to find that as yet there had been, no an- 
swer to his wired request for money. They told 
him to drop in later. 

After that he did a great deal of walking, up one 
street and down another, with no very definite pur- 
pose in view. He bought several newspapers and 
studied the “ want ad ” pages with a view to 
getting an idea of what sort of jobs girls in a big 
city looked for. This led him to the plan of adver- 
tising for Sadie, which struck him as rather brilliant 
and simple. She would surely be reading the want 
columns, he thought. But he could not advertise un- 
til his remittance came. 

Then he thought of Sadie and the movies and 
made a resolve to keep close watch upon the gaudy 
picture-palaces that evening, although he was not 
sure that in her present financial straits she could 
afford to spend nickels on luxuries. 

If all else failed he conceived the scheme of send- 
ing out a general movie alarm; he would have an 
appeal to Sadie flashed on every picture-screen in 
Buffalo. But this, too, was a matter for future con- 
sideration. His case was not yet so desperate. 

Stoddard was hungry. He counted his money. 
Four cents invested in newspapers left him eighty- 
one cents. As it was mid-afternoon he decided to 
eat. 

Several restaurant windows made alluring ap- 
peals to his eyes, but not to his finances. He wanted 
something cheap. He decided not to spend more 
than a quarter on this meal. 


FOUND 


297 


At last he found his place. Standing on the side- 
walk was a sign that related the entire menu — • 
all sorts of combinations “ with coffee, tea, or 
milk.” He studied the lists with the determination 
to obtain the maximum of bulk for his money. 
Two fried eggs with bacon, rolls, butter, and coffee, 
all for a quarter, sounded a good deal like break- 
fast, but he was not particular. He went inside. 

The place was narrow and dingy, with tables hud- 
dled in close array against the walls. A girl cash- 
ier inspected him as he passed the desk and curled 
her lip. The Royal boasted no swells among its 
patrons; yet on the other hand it rarely descended to 
the entertainment of wild men in tatters. 

Stoddard seated himself at an unoccupied table, 
gave his order to an impatient and indifferent girl, 
and began contemplating the passers-by without. 
He grudged the minutes required to fry his eggs; 
they were so many lost in his quest. He heard the 
man behind him complaining of delayed chops and 
heard a waitress answer that she was not “ his ” 
waitress, but would convey his sentiments to the 
kitchen. 

The next thing Stoddard became conscious of 
was a tremendous crash of dishes directly behind 
him. Coffee from a shattered cup spattered his 
boots v Two wan-looking chops slid across the tiled 
floor. He turned to inspect the wrecked tray. 
Then he glanced upward at the aproned waitress 
who had dropped it. She was staring at him. 

Sadie ! 


CHAPTER XX 
“ I LOVE you! ” 

S TODDARD neither did nor said any of the 
things he had planned to do and say when he 
found Sadie Hicks. Instead he stood up and 
said stupidly: 

“ Hello! ” 

“ Hello ! ” she answered like an echo. 

Then the customer who had waited for his chops 
ventured into the conversation. 

“Say!” he rasped, glaring at Sadie. “Think 
I’m payin’ to have my meals served on the floor? 
I waited long enough for them chops. This is a 
deuce of a restaurant.” 

Following which, he tossed his napkin into the 
mess on the floor and walked out of the place. 

A fat man with a cigar in his teeth came running 
from the rear, glaring as he approached. He shook 
his fist in Sadie’s face. 

“You said you was a waitress!” he screamed 
shrilly. “ See what you done ! ” 

He pointed tragically downward. 

“ I seen it,” said Sadie wearily. 

“You a waitress! Twenty cents’ worth of 
dishes gone, a quarter’s worth of grub, and a cus- 
tomer! Do you think I’m runnin’ a hash-house? 

£98 


“I LOVE YOU! 


299 


Was that there man sittin’ on the floor, that you 
chuck his vittles on it? ” 

“ Shut up! ” said Stoddard shortly. “ Come on, 
Sadie.” 

“ She comes to work only this mornin’ and — ” 

“ Well, she’s quitting now. Here’s a quarter for 
what I ordered. Chuck my grub on the floor, too, 
if you like.” 

Stoddard had Sadie by the arm and was urging 
her toward the door. The proprietor of the Royal 
followed them, delivering himself of copiously 
worded thoughts. 

“ It was a accident,” explained Sadie as she was 
borne steadily in the direction of the street. 

u j >> 

“ Keep still ! ” commanded Stoddard. “ Let’s 
get out of here.” 

“ Yes, sir,” answered Sadie meekly. 

“ Don’t you say ‘ sir ’ to me.” 

“ No, sir.” 

The cashier girl stopped chewing gum as they 
passed her desk; then turned to the perspiring owner 
and inquired calmly: 

“ Who’ll I charge them dishes to? ” 

Out on the sidewalk Stoddard and Sadie were rap- 
idly leaving the scene of disaster behind. His grip 
on her arm would have caused most girls to cry out 
in pain. Stoddard was unconscious of the viselike 
pressure his fingers exerted. So was Sadie. She 
walked mechanically, like a woman in a trance. 

Once she glanced up at him timidly. His face 
was so grim that it frightened her. His lips were 


300 


“MISTER 44 ” 


set tightly, his chin was thrust forward truculently, 
as he hurried onward with long strides. She had 
difficulty in keeping pace with him, but Stoddard took 
no note of that either. 

Only one thought occupied his mind. He had 
captured Sadie. To carry her off was mere instinct. 
He had no idea whither he was taking her, no plan 
whatever. He was simply a captor with his prey. 

They turned into a busy shopping-street and be- 
gan bumping into people. Stoddard brushed them 
aside and dragged Sadie onward. She tried to fall 
into his rapid step and found herself fairly running. 
Not until her initial bewilderment began to subside 
did she realize that a crowd had started to follow, 
laughing and hurling sidewalk wit. 

“My hat!” she exclaimed. “It’s back at the 
restaurant. 

“ I’ll get you another,” he said shortly. 

On they walked. Sadie, looking behind her fear- 
fully, beheld a mirthful gallery of followers. Her 
arms were bare to the elbows, like those of Stoddard, 
and her apron was flying in the wind. 

“ We’re follered,” she informed him hesitatingly. 
“ A crowd of people’s after us.” 

Stoddard glanced backward as if abruptly wak- 
ened from a dream; then mentally cursed the shop- 
ping-crowd for a pack of idle curiosity-seekers. But 
he also realized the spectacle that was being fur- 
nished for their amusement. 

They reached a crossing where a trolley-car had 
halted. Without taking note of its direction or des- 
tination he propelled Sadie aboard the rear platform 


“I LOVE YOU!” 301 

and followed her. He handed the conductor a 
dime. 

“Transfers?” asked the official as he stared at 
his new passengers. 

“ No,” answered Stoddard, and plunged into the 
car behind Sadie. 

She was already crowding into the far corner of 
a crosswise seat, trying to shrink from the scrutiny 
of wondering eyes. He sat beside her and looked 
straight ahead, very stern of countenance. 

Persons in seats ahead of them, influenced by that 
psychic phenomenon that spreads intelligence in a 
crowd, turned to stare and grin. But none of the 
passengers spoke of the pair save in whispers. The 
expression on the big man’s face was too forbid- 
ding. 

Sadie again ventured a glance at her captor. He 
seemed oblivious to her presence. Her own heart 
was beating rapidly. She was excited, bewildered, 
content. Just what it was all coming to she did not 
attempt to guess. She simply knew she was free 
of the dismal restaurant and a prisoner in the hands 
of No. 44. That was enough for the present. 

The car went onward for many blocks, stopping 
often to disembark passengers who had stared and 
smiled and to receive new ones, who took up the 
scrutiny where others left it. Stoddard was uncon- 
scious of it all. He sat with a frown on his face, 
his jaws set tightly, his sinewy arms folded uncom- 
promisingly across his broad chest. 

Once Sadie spoke after more than a quarter of an 
hour had elapsed. 


302 “ MISTER 44 ” 

“Where — where are we going?” she asked 
hesitantly. 

“ Anywhere,” was the answer she received. 

She did not interrogate him as to the location of 
“ anywhere,” and Stoddard, if he had any notions on 
the subject, did not enlighten her. 

They were running through a suburban section 
now. Sadie knew it well; she had ridden out that 
way on Sundays many a time. Stoddard paid no 
attention to the changing landscape. He was still 
sitting rigidly, eyes front. Nearly all of the passen- 
gers had left the car, but he was not aware of that 
either. 

Suburban villas gave way to country houses and 
city yards to fields and little clumps of woods. Sa- 
die watched the change with dreamy satisfaction. 
She did not care where they were going nor possess 
any curiosity in the matter. No. 44 would explain 
it all when the time came. She was glad that at any 
rate they were leaving the city behind, for she knew 
that she presented a dreadful spectacle to the eyes 
of urban dwellers. 

“All out!” 

The car was at the end of the line and the con- 
ductor was switching the trolley-pole, while the mo- 
torman, controller in hand, now enjoyed his first view 
of his very extraordinary passengers. 

Stoddard roused himself and stood up. Then 
he reached for Sadie’s arm. 

“ Come on,” he said. 

She followed with complete docility. They 
found themselves on a dusty country road. Still 


“I LOVE YOU! 


303 


gripping her firmly, he began walking in a course 
away from the city. They passed loosely scattered 
farmhouses and stretches of field and cow-pasture. 

Sadie noted them, but her companion saw them 
not. His mind was utterly remote from their en- 
vironment. Not until the road began to wind 
through a clump of woods did he give any sign of 
being awake to his surroundings. 

A break in a stone wall on one side of the road 
caught his eye. He steered Sadie across the ditch 
and through the opening. They walked onward 
among the trees, down a sloping hillside. Pres- 
ently the tinkle of water reached her ears; then the 
silver flash of a running brook was visible. They 
halted at the brink of it. 

Stoddard sighed and looked about him. There 
was a little grassy spot a few yards distant, past 
which the stream flowed musically. He led Sadie 
to it. 

“ Sit down,” he said. 

She obeyed mechanically; then looked up at him. 
He was studying her with an expression that brought 
a swift blush of recollection to her cheeks. She 
dropped her glance and began plucking blades of 
grass from the sod at her feet. Stoddard, contem- 
plating the top of her head for a moment, seated 
himself cross-legged in front of her. 

/ “ Now we’re ready to talk,” he announced. 

“ Yes,” she assented. “ About what? ” 

“ Everything.” 

“ You begin,” she suggested. 

Sadie was greatly puzzled, perhaps a little disap- 


304 


“ MISTER 44 ” 


pointed. She was thinking of the morning in the 
Deepwater when he stood with her hands impris- 
oned in his, his glance reading her very heart, while 
it revealed his own. 

“ Well, I received your letter,” he said. 

Sadie made no comment. 

“ I followed you as quickly as I could,” he added. 
“ I caught the late train. I got here last night. 

She nodded. 

“ You had no business to run away,” he said, and 
there was severity in his voice. “ It wasn’t fair.” 

“Wasn’t it? ” Her tone was small and meek. 

“ You know it wasn’t. You wouldn’t have dared 
to try it if I’d been there.” 

“ Maybe not.” 

“Why did you do it?” 

She gave him a swift, appealing glance, but made 
no answer. 

“ Tell me why,” he commanded. 

“ You — you got the letter. It was in there.” 

“ It was not,” he declared sternly. “ You know 
it was not.” 

“ I said there wasn’t any jobs up there for a girl, 
didn’t I?” 

“ But that was not the reason you left. It 
was something else. What did Livingston say to 
you? ” 

Sadie maintained a stubborn silence for a full min- 
ute. 

“ Go ahead and tell me. What did he say? ” 

“I — I cannot.” 

Nonsense. You must. What was it that you 


I LOVE YOU! 


305 


think he was right about? It’s almost impossible 
for him to be right on anything.” 

“I — just can’t say it, No. 44. Don’t make me.” 

“ I’ve got to know,” he said relentlessly. 

“ Please ! ” 

“ It was about me — and you? Wasn’t it? ” 

“ N-no. Not exactly. Not all of it.” 

Sadie was in a pitiable state of embarrassment. 
How could she tell him what Livingston said? 
How could she confess she loved him when her own 
ears were waiting for the message that was unfin- 
ished on his lips? 

“ Go ahead.” 

“ It was about a man and a woman,” she fal- 
tered. 

“ Something like a parable? ” 

She nodded. 

“ Let me see if I can guess some of it,” said Stod- 
dard. “ He told you about a man who was rich 
and successful, who had an education and a social 
position and ambitious relatives, and all that sort of 
thing. Is that right? ” 

“ Yes,” she whispered. 

“ And then he told you about a woman who was 
poor and had a very lowly position in society and 
who did not always talk after the fashion of edu- 
cated people. Didn’t he?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ I imagined it was something of that sort,” he 
went on slowly. “ Larry is clever, in his damnably 
contemptible way. He made the two pictures ex- 
ceedingly vivid, beyond doubt.” 


30 6 “ MISTER 4 4 ” 

“ Not exactly,” she corrected. “I — I told him 
about the woman.” 

“ He left that to you, did he? He just suggested 
it, for you to fill in the details. Nice of Larry ! 
Well, after you had these two pictures before you, 
what then? ” 

“ He went away.” 

“ And left you to study them? ” 

She inclined her head in faint assent. 

“ Nothing else said? You’re sure? ” 

“ He — he asked a question.” 

“ What was it?” 

“ That’s the part I can’t say,” she answered in a 
whisper. 

Stoddard sat watching her, trying to obtain a 
glimpse of her face, which she kept steadily averted 
from him. Of a sudden the same magic thrill as 
that which had swept over him that instant when she 
was almost in his arms, back on their island, surged 
in his blood again. 

He reached for her hands and seized them. 

“ Sadie!” 

He spoke rapidly now with joyous confidence. 

“ I love you. I want you. I need you ! I’m 
going to have you. Do you understand? I’ve 
found you and I’m going to keep you. That’s why 
I followed you here. You know it. I would have 
followed you anywhere, and forever, until I found 
you. 

tl I love you. Do you hear? I love you! ” 

Her hands stirred in his grasp; she shrank from 
him. 


I LOVE YOU! 


307 


“ Don’t! ” she exclaimed. 

“ I will ! You belong to me. You love me.” 

She drew away from his grip with a sudden mo- 
tion and struggled to her feet. Stoddard leaped 
up, but she held him from her with a gesture. 

“ Don’t! I can’t bear it! ” 

“ I tell you—” 

“Stop!” 

There was a ring of command in her voice. 

“ You mustn’t say it. I mustn’t listen. I thought 
it all out — after he asked me the question.” 

She hesitated; then went on desperately: 

“ Yes; it’s the question he asked. I knew the an- 
swer. There couldn’t only be but one. He wanted 
to know — what the woman would do if she really 
loved the man! That was it! And what would 
she do? You know — I know. There ain’t any 
other way! ” 

Stoddard’s eyes glowed as he watched her. She 
was facing him bravely now, not flinching from his 
gaze. 

“ He said that love meant a sacrifice,” she went 
on rapidly. “ He’s right. He knew. It does 
mean that. A woman can’t drag down a man she 
loves. If she isn’t meant for him, she’s got to give 
him up. 

“ There ! I’ve said it because you made me. 
I’ve said I love you. It’s true! And it’ll always 
be true ! I can’t never stop that. But that’s all it’ll 
ever be, because — because I love you too much to 
hurt you ! ” 

With a cry of triumph he brushed aside the arms 


MISTER 44 ” 


308 

that tried to ward him off and drew her against his 
breast in a mighty embrace. 

“ God bless you ! ” he murmured. “ I knew you 
loved me.” 

She struggled in his arms sobbing, but he held her 
fast. 

“Don’t!” she gasped. “You mustn’t! I got 
to give you up. I ain’t fit for you. We’re differ- 
ent. Think — your mother, your sister! Ah, let 
me go ! ” 

He was smiling down at the bronze hair that lay 
against his ragged flannel shirt. Gently he bent his 
lips to it. Then he began talking to her as if she 
were a child to be comforted. 

“ Cry, if you want to, dear. It doesn’t make any 
difference. I’ve got you now. I’m not going to 
give you up and you couldn’t give me up if you 
wanted to. 

“ You haven’t looked deeply enough into your 
heart, Sadie. Do you think that I haven’t thought 
of all the things you thought? Ah, but I have, 
dear ! I went over it all. And I found it all false 
and shallow and unworthy of a sacrifice. And there 
cannot be any — and will not. 

“ We love each other. That is the beginning and 
the end of it.” 

She sobbed quietly in his arms without an effort to 
release herself. 

“ So you must put it all out of your dear, foolish 
head,” he went on softly. “ Do you think I care 
if you do not always talk as other women do? I 
love you. 


“I LOVE YOU!” 309 

“ Does it matter to me that you worked in a fac- 
tory? I love you. 

“ Does it make any difference because somebody 
sent me to school and forgot to send you? I love 
you. 

“ Nothing can stand against that. Nothing will. 
Look at me, Sadie ! ” 

She stirred a little. He heard her whisper: 

“ You’re — sure?” 

“ You know it!” 

Suddenly she lifted her head and met his glance 
steadily. He saw a wonderful light in her gray 
eyes. They were timorous no longer, though her 
lips trembled and the tears were still on her cheeks. 
Then her arms were flung around his neck fiercely. 

“ I won’t give you up! ” she panted. “ I can’t! 
Maybe it’s wrong; I don’t care! You said I be- 
longed to you — and I do ! And you belong to me ! 
I — I tried to give you up, and something won’t let 
me. So now it’s forever! Ah, Jack — Jack! 
Hold me close ! ” 

For a little they stood thus, Sadie clinging to 
him in silence, while the little brook ran tinkling on- 
ward at their feet. The brook was very old and 
love was very old, so there was nothing to pause and 
wonder at. 

An hour later they were laughing with the brook. 
Stoddard was finishing a narration of his detention 
by the immigration officials and of their tribute to the 
bona fide evidence of Sadie’s citizenship. 

“ I did talk very plain,” she confessed. “ Slang- 
in’ helps once in a while, even if it ain’t proper.” 


“ MISTER 44” 


310 

When he reached the tale of the Shrimp and the 
spanking Sadie became almost hysterical. She 
hugged her big man in delight and begged him to tell 
it all over again. 

“ I could ’ve done it myself,” she said a little 
proudly, “ only it wouldn’t Ve looked dignified.” 

“ Alys thought it was great,” he added. 

“ Alys?” 

“No. 17.” 

Sadie bestowed upon him a look of swift scrutiny. 

“ Where’d you get that Alys stuff?” she de- 
manded. 

“ Oh, we got to be good friends,” said Stoddard 
with affected carelessness, although his eyes were 
twinkling. 

“Oh, you did!” exclaimed Sadie disdainfully. 
“ You mean that blonde with the frizzes? ” 

“Yes; nice-looking girl. She offered to teach me 
to dance.” 

“ Oh, I bet she did ! And you thought she was 
good-lookin’, did you?” 

Sadie had bridled at the mention of the name and 
she was now trying to look offended. 

“ Just good-looking, I said,” explained Stoddard. 
“ Not beautiful.” 

His eyes were watching her as he spoke. Sadie 
became mollified. 

“ Am I really beautiful? ” she asked. 

“ Haven’t you ever thought so yourself? ” 

“ I knew I was good-lookin’,” she admitted. “ It 
ain’t no harm for a girl to know that, I guess, pro- 
vidin’ it’s true. But I guess I wasn’t ever stuck up 


“I LOVE YOU! ” 31 1 

over it. But beautiful — Well, that sounds like a 
lot more.” 

“ It is.” 

“ I hope so, anyhow,” she added seriously. 
“ ’Cause I got to be something, Jack, just on your 
account. I ain’t got anything but my looks right 
now. But I’m goin’ to have ! And it’s goin’ to be 
an awful big job for you.” 

“ What do you mean, Sadie?” 

“ I ain’t goin’ to be a wife that you’ll be ashamed 
of. That’s what I mean. You can hide me at first, 
but I won’t always stay hid. 

“You see, it’s this way: Right now I ain’t fit 
to be taken nowhere among your kind of people. 
I’d shame you. I’d shame myself, too. They’d 
laugh at me. I couldn’t blame ’em, either. And if 
they laughed at you on my account it’d nearly kill 
me. 

“ That’s why I ran away. I never understood 
exactly the difference between some women and 
others till I seen your mother. Then it came to 
me right off what I really was. And then when Mr. 
Livingston talked to me I seen more of it. I seen 
it on your account, too. So I just had to go away. 

u I didn’t dare wait for you to come back. I 
knew what you was goin’ to say to me; you’d almost 
said it. And once you’d ever told me I wouldn’t ’ve 
been able to go. I wasn’t strong enough for that, 
Jack.” 

“ But you tried to give me up only a little while 
ago,” he reminded her. 

“Did I? I’d almost forgotten. Seems now 


312 


“ MISTER 44 ” 


like I couldn’t ’ve meant it. Because if anybody told 
me I’d have to give you up now there’d — - Well, 
there’d be fightin’, I guess. But now we’ve got each 
other — ” 

She paused momentarily as if the phrase pleased 
her. 

“ Now we’ve got each other,” she repeated, “ I 
got to be raised up till I stand level with you. I got 
to get educated.” 

“ I love you as you are,” he declared vehemently. 

“ I know,” she nodded. “ That makes me think 
there’s something to me. But I don’t love myself as 
much as I used to ; not since I met you — and wanted 
you. Always, years back, I’d been promisin’ my- 
self that some day I’d learn things, but the time 
never come round. It’s come now. 

“That’s why you’ve got an awful big job, Jack. 
You got to help me. You got to teach me. I can’t 
stay ignorant any more. You will, won’t you, 
boy?” 

“ I’ll do anything in God’s world for you,” he said 
solemnly. 

Sadie lifted her head proudly. There was the 
light of a great resolve in her calm, gray eyes. 

“ I’m goin’ to be a credit to you some day, Jack,” 
she said quietly. “ Maybe it’ll be years, but it’ll 
come. I know it.” 

Darkness had come when Stoddard and Sadie 
climbed aboard a city-bound car at the trolley ter- 
minal. They talked but little on the journey back. 
His own mind was filled with reverent wonder at 


I LOVE YOU! 


3*3 


the strong, clean-souled woman who had come so 
strangely into his life, while in Sadie’s there were 
deep peace and content — and a rainbow. 

He had twenty-six cents in capital when they en- 
tered the telegraph-office to inquire if a reply to his 
message had been received, while Sadie was in but 
little better financial state. Stoddard breathed a 
sigh of satisfaction as the clerk counted a pile of bills 
and shoved them across the desk. 

“ We’ll be civilized in an hour if there are any 
stores open,” he said. 

“ I kind of like you the way you are,” she said. 

They were leaving when the clerk called Stoddard 
back. 

“ There’s a message, too,” he said, tossing an en- 
velope upon the counter. 

Stoddard read it and frowned. 

“ Bad news? ” asked Sadie. 

He handed her the telegram. She read: 

Money wired as per your telegram. Have just signed 
railroad-construction contract for Argentine. Can you be 
ready to take steamer sailing in three days ? 

“ Where’s Argentine, Jack?” 

“ South America.” 

“ And how long’ll the job take? ” 

“ I don’t know. A year at least.” 

He stood with a blank look on his face, reread- 
ing the message. 

“Well, why don’t you answer it?” asked Sadie. 

“ But what am I going to say? ” 

“ Say ‘ Yes.’ ” 


3H 


MISTER 44 ” 


“ But for a year ! I can’t wait for you that long, 
Sadie!” 

“ You won’t have to. I’m goin’ with you.” 

“ But—” 

“ It’s the chance I need. A year’s studyin’- — 
where nobody can laugh at me.” 

“ You mean you’ll — ” 

“ Marry you any time, Jack.” 

She put her hands on his shoulders and smiled up 
at him, but her eyes were grave. 

“ I ain’t a doll-baby, dear,” she said. “ I’m a 
woman. Wherever you go I’m goin’. That’s my 
idea of a wife.” 


CHAPTER XXI 

REUNION 

A NOTHER September had come in the Deep- 
water. It was glowing and golden wher- 
ever the lake stretched. But there was one 
green island upon which the sunlight seemed to rest 
like a benediction. It was an island quiet and 
sturdy, knowing its own strength and happiness and 
being content. 

In a little brown glade among the trees stood a 
tent, the flap thrown wide. There was an orderly 
stone fireplace near by, from which wisps of blue- 
gray smoke ascended. A bench and a table had 
been built between convenient trees. There was a 
pile of cut wood at one side of the clearing. 

A green-bottomed canoe lay on the shore a few 
yards distant. On everything the sun was shining, 
while a soft breeze came in from the lake, bearing 
freshness and the sweet scents of early fall. 

A woman stepped out of the tent and stood for 
a moment watching the water. She was tall and 
straight and fair, even through the smooth, brown 
tan that lay upon her cheeks. Her deep bosom 
rose and fell softly under an olive-drab shirt. 
There was a red scarf at her throat. A broad- 
brimmed sombrero of felt shaded her eyes. From 
beneath it strayed strands of flaming bronze. Her 
315 


MISTER 44” 


316 

tan skirt fell a little below her knees, where it was 
met by high-laced boots. A leather belt girdled her 
waist. 

In her simple costume she gave the impression of 
a woman richly dressed, a woman who fitted her 
environment, knew it, and was satisfied. 

She stepped across the little camp, looked in each 
direction along the shore; then cupped her hands at 
her lips and called: 

“O-o-oh, Jack!” 

An answering hail came faintly from somewhere 
beyond a jutting point. She began following the 
shore in the direction of the sound. Presently she 
met a man. Save in one particular, he, too, was 
stoutly dressed for the woods. His shirt was old 
and worn and patched, and there were the marks of 
careful stitching where a rent had been closed in the 
shoulder. 

“ How do I look? ” she asked. 

“ Magnificent.” 

“ I put on my very best. How is it from the 
back?” 

She turned slowly while he surveyed the costume. 

“Couldn’t be better! You’re absolutely stun- 
ning! ” 

She smiled and nodded despairingly. 

“ You always say that,” she said, “ no matter 
how I look.” 

“ But it’s true, Sadie.” 

“ I hope so. But I’m always afraid of your 
praising me, even when I don’t deserve it. When 
will she be here? ” 


REUNION 


3i7 

“ Soon, I think.” 

“ Don’t you want to change that shirt of yours? ” 

She was eying the patches critically. 

“Never! It’s my lucky shirt. See what it 
brought me ! ” 

“ It won’t stand much more mending,” she said, 
smiling reminiscently. “ But I can’t make you give 
it up, it seems.” 

She spoke slowly and with an odd precision in her 
voice, as if each word and sentence that came to her 
lips passed rigid censorship before utterance was 
given it. 

The big man slipped his arm about his wife. 
They strolled slowly in the direction of the camp. 

“ I’m a little frightened,” she said, with a nervous 
laugh. 

“ I’m not,” he declared promptly. “ It’s going 
to be an instant and complete victory.” 

“ I always think she’ll never forgive me, Jack — 
for taking you. What do you suppose she thinks 
I’m like? She’s never had even a picture.” 

“ I told her what you were like every time 
I wrote. She knows that you are very wonder- 
ful.” 

Sadie patted his shoulder indulgently. 

“ You don’t understand women yet,” she said. 
“It doesn’t count — what a man says about the 
woman he loves. Your mother won’t decide until 
she sees.” 

“ But I know her decision.” He nodded con- 
fidently. 

“ I mustn’t forget to talk slowly,” she went on. 


3 i8 “MISTER 44” 

“ I’m not very bad when I stop and think carefully. 
Am I, Jack?” 

“ I simply marvel at you, dear. Oh, but that’s 
true ! I didn’t believe any person could do it in a 
year.” 

“ That’s because we went away where I could 
have my schoolmaster all to myself. I liked it 
down in Argentine, Jack. I could get away from 
everything and study.” 

“We may have to go again.” 

“When?” She spoke quickly and anxiously. 

“ Not for a year, at least. Perhaps not then. 
But there’s a likelihood.” 

“A year? Oh, that’s all right.” 

She smiled enigmatically and tightened her arm 
about his shoulders. 

Their year in a far land had been a wondrous 
one for Sadie Stoddard. She had seen her big 
husband doing serious things, fighting and conquer- 
ing and patiently hewing the obstacles from his path. 

She was extravagantly proud of him. It seemed 
to her that nothing he set his will upon could stand 
before him. Even when he spent long hours over 
strange columns and combinations of figures that 
she did not understand she still knew he was fight- 
ing, planning, counting the victory. 

Then Sadie had found herself doing things. 
Stoddard’s spirit of conquest reigned in her own 
soul. She was fighting, too — fighting against the 
bondage that held her mind and speech in check. 
And she gloried in it, because she knew that she, 
like her wonderful husband, was gaining a victory. 


REUNION 


3i9 


She had become a slave to her books. She drove 
herself relentlessly. Sometimes he tried to check 
her impetuosity, but she would endure no restraint. 
She wanted to learn — learn — learn! She had a 
new vision before her. It pictured a time when she 
would be standing by his side, helping to fight his 
battles. 

It was a far day, she knew, but that made her 
the more resolute to achieve it. She did not tell 
him this, but it was always in her heart and mind, 
spurring her. 

“ I’ll be helping him some day,” she would 
whisper to herself. “ I’ll be even more than his 
wife; I’ll be his right-hand man.” 

They had gone to the far land two days after 
their marriage. His mother knew only after they 
were on the sea that she had a daughter-in-law. 
For several months afterward all else that she knew 
had come from Larry Livingston. At first she did 
not believe. Then, when she realized that Living- 
ston spoke the truth, her heart was filled with bitter- 
ness, resentment and even horror. She felt that 
she could never see her son again; that he had 
passed out of her life in disgrace and shame. 

Then his letters had begun to come — brave, 
joyous letters from a wilderness. Slowly it 
dawned upon her that her son was happy. That 
comforted her. More and more he wrote to her 
about his wonderful wife. She could not and 
would not believe, yet she was glad that her son 
believed. He was back in her heart again, for the 
mother in her would not be denied. 


320 


“ MISTER 44 ” 


But as for the woman she was a thing apart. 
There could be no change there. The mother-love 
was not broad enough to cover both; the mother- 
jealousy still burned, a persistent flame. 

Mrs. Stoddard was abroad when her son and his 
wife returned from South America. They had not 
lingered in New York, but made swiftly for the 
Deepwater, where they always lived in their 
dreams. Now they were lodged again on the is- 
land where Fate had cast them a year before and 
where Love had built its camp-fire. 

Stoddard’s mother returned to the United States 
to learn that her son and his wife were once more 
in their forest Arcadia. Her heart ached for a 
sight of her big boy. 

Yet she hesitated. The other woman was there, 
standing between them. It was a letter, penned 
from the heart of the great outdoors, that decided 
her. The letter was from her son’s wife. 

This time Stoddard had word of his mother’s 
coming. Sadie was apprehensive, yet eager. She 
knew it would be hard to forgive, for she herself 
had the heart of a woman. 

“ But perhaps she’ll see — and understand,” she 
told herself. “ Maybe she’ll love me just because 
I love him, or because he loves me. Oh, if I can 
only make her know what I’m trying to be — what 
I will be ! ” 

The launch would be coming from the hotel soon. 
Sadie had quietly prepared herself for the ordeal. 
In her heart was a prayer that her husband would 


REUNION 


321 


be proud of her, even when she stood side by side 
with the grand lady she had once furtively looked 
upon from a hiding place in the woods. 

“ I think I’ll read another chapter while we’re 
waiting,” she said, turning to her husband. 
“ Where did you put my history, Jack? ” 

“ I think it’s in the tent. Can’t you rest a little, 
dear?” 

“ No,” she answered, shaking her head gently. 
“ I mustn’t rest. I don’t want to rest. I want to 
keep going — on and on. And I’m never tired. 
That’s why I love it.” 

He fetched the book. Sadie found her chapter. 
She settled herself comfortably against a tree and 
read a page. Then a quizzical look came into her 
eyes, and she glanced slyly at Stoddard. 

u Jack! ” she said. 

“Yes?” 

“ Why couldn’t the colonists have went some- 
where else beside England to buy their tea?” 

“ They were given no choice,” he answered. 
“ England enforced a monopoly.” 

Sadie closed her book and looked at him se- 
verely. 

“ That’s the second time I’ve caught you to-day,” 
she chided, shaking her finger at him. “ I didn’t 
tell you the first. I wanted to see if you’d do it 
again. And you did! ” 

“What?” 

“ Broke the rule.” 

“ Did I? ” he inquired innocently. 

“ You know very well you did. That was only a 


322 


44 MISTER 44 ” 


trick question I asked you. Didn’t you hear me 
say, ‘ Have went ’ ? You know you did, Jack. 
But you never corrected me.” 

“ I don’t think I noticed,” he pleaded. 

u But you must notice ! ” she declared. u It’s the 
agreement. You mustn’t ever let me say things like 
that. Every time I do you’re to tell me. That’s 
twice you’ve let me off to-day. How am I ever 
going to get on if you don’t keep watching me? ” 

“ But you’re getting on so wonderfully! ” he pro- 
tested. “ It seems like nagging to tell you of every 
little slip.” 

“ It’s not nagging,” said Sadie stoutly. “ It’s 
part of the game. And you agreed to play it, so 
I’m not going to let you off. Why, if it hadn’t been 
for that I’d never have learned to put on my g’s. 
Even now I forget, sometimes.” 

“ But you’re so terribly strict with yourself,” 
Stoddard sighed. “ I don’t care if you do drop a 
‘ g ’ once in a while.” 

“ But / care ! I have to be strict with myself. 
Who would be, if I weren’t? Not you, you dear 
old easy-goer. I could speak factory English the 
rest of my days, and you’d be satisfied.” 

He nodded. 

“ But / wouldn’t!” she affirmed vehemently. 
“ And that’s why you simply must keep at me — 
always. I mean as long as there’s need of it. And 
the harder you keep at me the shorter the time will 
be, Jack.” 

Stoddard surveyed his wife with fond eyes. 

“ Let’s not read history now,” he said, taking the 


REUNION 


323 

book from her. “ School’s out for the day. Let’s 
talk.” 

They were soon again on the subject of his 
mother’s visit and Sadie’s fears. 

“ You mustn’t think that mother is severe,” he 
was saying. “ She’s not really that way. But, you 
see, she has been used to one sort of life and it’s 
not easy for her to accept anything else.” 

“ She’s strict about what is proper and what isn’t, 
I suppose,” mused Sadie. “ That’s one thing that 
worries me — what she thinks about the way we 
met.” 

“ I never told her that, dear. There was no use. 
She doesn’t know about the letter and the shirt.” 

“ Yes, she does,” said Sadie quietly. “ I told her 
in the letter I wrote.” 

Stoddard looked at his wife in surprise. 

“ It was best,” she went on, nodding. “ You’re 
her son, and she had a right to know all about me. 
So I told her. 

“ You’d been sending her those beautiful letters 
about me, but they weren’t about the real me at all. 
I couldn’t be all the things you said I was; not yet, 
at any rate. 

“ When I wrote there wasn’t any praise in it — 
except about you. She mustn’t ever tell you what 
I wrote about you ; there’ll be no living with you if 
she does. 

“ I told her who I was and what I was and how I 
met you. I didn’t leave out any of that part. And 
I told her what I was trying to do. I had it all 
spelled right, I’m sure, because I went over all the 


324 


MISTER 44 


hard words with the dictionary. That’s why I’m 
wondering what she’s going to think of me.” 

He sat silently for a moment; then reached for 
his wife’s hand. 

“ You did right,” he said. “ I think God gave 
you the cleanest courage ever put into the soul of a 
woman.” 

A little later, as they sat talking in low voices, 
the sound of a motor-launch rounding into Pickerel 
Bay from the South Arm reached their island. 
Sadie fell into a constrained silence as the craft 
drew nearer. When Stoddard walked down to the 
rocks to meet it she arose, went over to the tent and 
aimlessly busied herself there. 

Mrs. Stoddard was lifted ashore in the arms of 
her son and stood clinging to him in a long embrace. 

“ Just the same boy,” she said softly, as she 
searched his face with anxious eyes. “ My boy, 
John!” 

He smiled down at her and patted her shoulder. 
Then she drew away from him and glanced about 
her. 

“Where is my daughter?” she asked. 

The quietly spoken words thrilled Stoddard. 
What a mother she was! He turned and leaped 
up the embankment, running across the clearing to 
where Sadie stood. 

“ Come ! ” he said, taking her by the hand. 
“ She has asked for her daughter.” 

Sadie, a light of wonderment in her eyes, fol- 
lowed him. 

The two women faced each other for an instant 


REUNION 


325 


in silence. The glance of the elder was swift and 
keen, yet there was a smiling tenderness in her eyes. 
Then she put forth her arms. 

“ Come, daughter,” she said. 

Stoddard turned his back and went off a little dis- 
tance, trying to swallow a lump in his throat. 
When he turned again he saw two women in each 
other’s arms, the golden-bronze head of Sadie hid- 
den against his mother’s shoulder, while her figure 
trembled with joyous sobs. 

He went far down the island, his heart filled with 
a great happiness. It was more than an hour be- 
fore he returned, to find them sitting together by 
the tent, one of Sadie’s hands clasped between his 
mother’s. Mrs. Stoddard looked up at him and 
smiled. 

a When can I coax you two away from your 
woods?” she said. “My heart is hungry and 
selfish. I want my son and daughter under my own 
roof.” 

It was just before the launch carried Mrs. Stod- 
dard back to the hotel on Deepwater Island that she 
whispered to him: 

“ I came to make a sacrifice, but there is none to 
be made. She is more than you said. I love her. 
Bring her to me soon.” 

They watched the launch until it passed from 
sight beyond a headland. Then Stoddard’s glance 
swept slowly over the warm tints of the September 
landscape, and he sighed. 

“ I suppose we will have to go pretty soon,” he 


“ MISTER 44 ” 


326 

said. “ She wants you. Yet I don’t see how I’m 
going to share you.” 

“ We can come back again, boy.” 

“Why, we’ll come back in the spring! ” he ex- 
claimed. “I never thought of it before! We’ll 
stay a whole season.” 

“No; not in the spring,” mused Sadie, shaking 
her head gently. 

“ But why not? It’s glorious here then.” 

“ I’ll tell you why, Jack.” 

She went close to him, put her arms about his 
neck and drew his head down until her lips were at 
his ear. 

“ Sadie!” 

“Yes,” she said as she clung to him. “That’s 
why I was worried when you spoke first about go- 
ing back to Argentine. And that’s why we can’t 
come to Canada in the spring. 

“ He’s — he’s going to be born under the flag. 
He’s going to have his chance to be President. 

“And, oh, I’ll be so busy all winter, Jack! Be- 
sides sewing on all the little foolish things, I must 
study — study hard — all through the winter, and 
long after that.” 

She looked up at her husband with shining eyes. 
“ You see, dear,” she whispered, “ he mustn’t ever 
hear his mother say, ‘ Have went ’ ! ” 


THE END 


LRB S ’26 

































